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The  Coloners  Opera  Cloak 


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in  2016  with  funding  from 

University  of  Illinois  Urbana-Champaign  Alternates 


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The 

Coloners  Opera  Cloak 


By 

Christine  C.  Brush 


With  Illustrations  from  Drawings  by  E.  W.  Kemble 
and  Arthur  E.  Becher 


Little,  Brown,  and  Company 

1904 


Copyright^  iSyQy 
By  Roberts  Brothers. 

Copyrighty  igojy 

By  Little,  Brown,  and  Company. 


University  Press  • yohn  Wilson  Son 
Cambridge y U.S.A. 


FULL-PAGE  ILLUSTRATIONS 


From  Drawings  by  Arthur  E.  Becher 

‘‘He  triumphantly  emerged,  with  a large  blue  cape 

lined  with  scarlet  ” Frontispiece 

“The  opera  cloak  hung  on  a chair  by  the  fire ’ ’ Facing  Page  8 3 
“Tom  was  angry,  but  he  couldn’t  help 

laughing” “ “152 

“It  was  the  Colonel’s  opera  cloak  ” . . “ “252 

ILLUSTRATIONS  IN  THE  TEXT 

From  Drawings  by  E.  W.  Kemble 

Introduction,  heading Pcig£  i 

Chapter  heading . “ 7 

Pomp “10 

“ There  was  a pair  of  cavalry-boots  under  the 

piano  ” “12 

Mr.  Cavello “16 

Chapter  heading  “24 

“ At  the  sound  of  the  closing  door  he  sprang  from 

his  seat  ” “40 


Illustrations 


“ Finally  fled  into  a dark  alley  and  eluded  the 

enraged  lover  ” Page  42 

Chapter  heading “44 

“ He  cooks  his  own  food,  and  mends  his  own 

clothes  ” “46 

‘‘  While  Mr.  Ackerman  was  showing  Leslie  his 

old-fashioned  costumes” “ 56 

Chapter  heading “58 

“One  day  Pomp  appeared  at  the  Doctor’s  with 

a large  tray  ” “61 

“ He  sent  Bessie  a parrot  in  a beautiful  gilt  cage  ” “ 67 

“‘I  reckon  he’s  at  a club,  eating  sweetbread 

and  quails’” “71 

“ ‘ O you  dear  opera  cloak  ! ’ ” “ 73 

Chapter  heading “74 

“She  was  dazzled  by  a light  in  her  face”  . . “86 

“He  held  out  to  her  the  Colonel’s  opera  cloak  ” “ 93 

“ Endeavoring  to  raise  his  glaring  white  eyes  over 

the  rails  of  the  small  iron  fence  ” ...  “99 

Chapter  heading “105 

“ Drawing  the  Colonel’s  opera  cloak  about  him, 

. . . turned  his  face  toward  home”  . . “ 118 

“ ‘ Goes  scootin’  round  wid  a cane,  an’  one  o’ 

dem  high-top  hats,  like  Massa  Tom’s’  ” “123 

Chapter  heading ‘'127 

Mr.  MacVickar “142 

Chapter  heading “ H7 

vi 


Illustrations 


Uncle  Peter i 5 3 

' An’  ye’ r sort  o’  cased  in  ice  ’ ” . . . . “ 158 

Chapter  heading “ 178 

“A  gentleman  had  driven  up  to  the  hotel  door, 
where  the  landlord  was  standing  in  portly 

dignity  ” . . . ‘‘  185 

‘‘  He  saw  a little  boy  running  at  full  speed  past 

him  ” ‘‘  2po 

“ Leslie  slipped  away  to  her  room,  and  cried  her- 
self to  sleep  ” 210 

Chapter  heading 216 

Chapter  heading “ 236 

‘‘  Pomp  brought  some  cologne,  and  bathed  her 

aching  head” “ 239 

“ He  took  Tom  for  a fellow -sufferer  ” . . . 244 

“ A tall,  stout  man,  with  a slouched  hat  ” . . 249 

‘ Well,’  he  went  on,  looking  at  her  with  his 

‘ smiling  eyes,’  as  Leslie  called  them”  . . 251 

Tail-piece - . . “ 262 


vii 


1HAVE  no  hero;  I have  no  heroine.  A 
story  without  either  seemed  so  shabby,  and 
incomplete  a thing  that  I looked  carefully  over 
my  old  men  and  women,  my  young  men  and 
maidens,  not  omitting  the  small  boys. 

Colonel  St.  John  was  tall  and  handsome,  — 
“ a perfect  specimen  of  a Southern  gentleman,” 
his  wife  said.  But,  having  never  met  the  Col- 
onel, I could  not  make  him  my  hero. 

Mrs.  St.  John  was  handsome,  slender,  and 
languid.  How  she  did  hate  the  North ! She 
was  not  to  my  fancy,  so  I would  not  have  her 
for  my  heroine. 

Dear  little  Leslie,  the  Colonel’s  niece, — I had 
half  a mind  to  choose  her.  But  she  never 
saved  a life,  and  never  wrote  a page  for  a mag- 
azine, not  even  “ Lines  to  E.  S.  L.”  She  never 

I I 


Introduction 


attended  lectures,  nor  revelled  in  “ the  True, 
the  Good,  and  the  Beautiful;”  and,  if  the  truth 
must  be  told,  she  spelled  quite  indifferently. 

There  was  Tom  Douglas,  the  Doctor’s  son, 
who  fell  in  love  with  Leslie.  If  he  had  but 
fallen  in  love  with  Miss  Gertrude  Henderson, 
the  handsome  heiress,  and  followed  her  abroad, 
what  a hero  and  heroine  they  would  have  been! 
In  that  case,  what  descriptions  I might  have 
given  of  foreign  parts,  — of  cathedrals  and  of 
palaces  1 I could  have  made  them  wander  in 
the  grand  old  galleries,  and  talk  about  the  pic- 
tures. I should  have  known  exactly  what  to 
say ; for  have  n’t  I a pile  of  my  cousin’s  old 
guide-books,  from  which  I could  extract  the 
height  and  width  of  every  thing,  as  well  as 
though  I had  taken  measurements  myself?  And 
Tom  could  have  made  love  in  Westminster 
Abbey  or  the  Bois  de  Boulogne.  But,  dear  me, 
he  fell  in  love  instead  with  that  foolish,  shiftless 
little  Leslie. 

If  I had  been  satisfied  with  a good,  noble, 
unselfish  man,  I might  have  chosen  Pomp;  but 
Pomp  was  only  a colored  man,  a “ nigger,”  an 
old  slave,  who  clung  through  thick  and  thin 
— very  thin  — to  his  master’s  family,  and  got 


Introduction 


nothing  in  return.  Only  the  angels  would  call 
Pomp  a hero. 

Dr.  Douglas  would  not  do,  of  course:  there 
was  nothing  romantic  about  the  Doctor.  He 
dosed  the  St.  Johns  among  his  other  patients, 
and  got  no  return  for  the  little  bills  he  presented, 
— that  was  all.  “ What  impudence  in  him  to 
send  these  things ! ” said  Mrs.  St.  John,  when 
the  Doctor’s  collector  appeared.  “ How  these 
Northerners  show  their  poor  raising!” 

The  Doctor’s  wife  would  not  answer.  Her 
affairs  were  settled  thirty  years  ago,  when,  in 
white  muslin  and  blue  ribbons,  she  met  the 
young  doctor  at  a college  commencement.  Be- 
sides, she  spent  her  time  in  seeing  that  her 
Tom  should  not  become  Leslie’s  hero!  “Leslie 
is  a dear,  sweet  little  girl,”  she  would  say,  in 
that  -disparaging,  maternal  tone  well  known  to 
eldest  sons ; “ but  for  a wife,  — I pity  the 
Northerner  of  whose  home  she  is  mistress ! ” 
Then  Tom  would  ask,  in  a cheerful  tone  of  dis- 
interested inquiry,  “ Is  there  any  Northerner 
who  wishes  to  marry  her?” 

There  was  Bessie  Douglas,  Tom’s  sister;  but 
Bessie  was  not  pretty  enough  for  a heroine.  It 
is  so  much  easier  to  have  a pretty  heroine.  No 
3 


Introduction 


matter  what  silly  things  she  may  say  or  do,  the 
reader  does  not  wonder  at  the  hero’s  falling  in 
love  with  her.  A plain  girl  has  to  utter  such 
brilliant  things,  to  satisfy  the  public! 

There  was  a troop  of  little  St.  Johns,  — 
Arthur,  Wilfrid,  and  Clarence;  but  they  looked 
so  much  alike,  and  were  so  tangled  up,  wearing 
each  other’s  clothes  indiscriminately,  that  this 
small  band  of  brothers  would  have  filled  the 
office  of  hero  to  overflowing. 

With  so  many  grown-up  white  ladies  and 
gentlemen  on  hand,  it  would  hardly  have  been 
respectful  to  take  Pomp’s  grandson  as  hero, 
although  his  name  might  well  have  suggested 
the  choice,  — “ John  Jasper  Jackson.”  Jackson 
was  not  his  last  name,  — he  had  none : it  was 
only  one  of  his  names.  Jackson  John  Jasper, 
or  Jasper  Jackson  John,  answered  just  as  .well. 

There  was  Mr.  Cavello;  but  I knew  so  little 
of  Spaniards,  — I only  knew  Mr.  Cavello,  — 
and  so  little  of  Spanish,  — only  “ Senor  ” and 
“ San  Salvador,”  — and  so  little  of  Spanish 
affairs,  — only  a few  items  about  coffee  and 
sugar  plantations  and  cigarettes, — that  I hardly 
felt  equal  to  using  Mr.  Cavello. 

But  there  was  a being  — I may  call  it  that, 
4 


Introduction 


because  it  had  being  — which  often  warmed  and 
clothed  the  St.  John  family;  which  was  with 
them  by  day  and  by  night,  in  pleasure  and  in 
sorrow;  which  delivered  them  from  dire  dis- 
tresses by  land  and  sea;  which  neither  ate  their 
food  nor  spent  their  money ; which  did  not 
smoke,  nor  play,  nor  drink,  like  the  Colonel. 
This  being  I have  chosen  for  my  leading  char- 
acter. Enter 

The  Colonel’s  Opera  Cloak. 


5 


I 


Little  Ned  Douglas  was  fired  with  an 
earnest  desire  to  possess  a certain  scarlet 
and  gold  ‘‘  Pilgrim’s  Progress,”  which  had  been 
shown  to  the  admiring  eyes  of  the  children  in 
his  Sunday  school,  as  a reward  to  the  one 
who  should  bring  in  the  largest  number  of  new 
scholars.  Ned  had  determined  to  win  the  prize. 

Strange  to  say,  the  ‘‘  new  scholars  ” whom 
Ned  secured  were  all  short  of  clothes.  One  day 
he  appeared,  flushed  and  excited,  at  the  dinner- 
table,  demanding  three  hats,  a purple  necktie, 
two  pairs  of  shoes,  and  a few  handkerchiefs. 

“ Have  you  found  a boy  with  four  feet,  three 
heads,  a few  noses,  and  only  one  neck?”  asked 
Tom. 

“No!”  cried  little  Ned,  indignantly:  “there 
are  three  boys,  and  one  is  black.  He ’s  a friend 
7 


The  Colonel’s  Opera  Cloak 

of  the  white  boys,  and  they  live  in  his  house.  I 
played  with  them  in  the  park  one  day,  and  they 
are  all  splendid ! They  used  to  be  rich,  and  now 
they  are  poor.  I guess  they  are  poor,”  he  added, 
rather  doubtfully,  “ because  they  said  they ’d  all 
come  to  Sunday  school  if  I ’d  get  them  shoes 
and  hats  and  handkerchiefs;  and  the  little  black 
boy  wanted  a purple  necktie.  But  they  have 
splendid  jack-knives,  and  they  eat  candy  all  the 
time,  and  chew  Jenny-Lind  gum!  Their  mother 
lets  them  do  it,”  and  little  Ned  looked  reproach- 
fully at  his  mother. 

The  new  acquaintances  were  soon  provided 
with  clothes,  and  they  entered  the  school  the 
next  Sunday. 

“Isn’t  it  queer?”  said  Ned,  some  time  after 
this.  “ Those  splendid  boys  used  to  live  in  the 
South,  and  they  were  as  rich  as  kings,  and  had 
lots  of  slaves.  One  of  them  said  that  zve  got 
his  slaves  away.  I told  him  ’t  was  no  such 
thing.  I told  him  that  you  and  father  used  to 
live  in  the  South,  but  you  did  n’t  touch  their 
slaves.  Arthur  — he  ’s  the  biggest  boy  — says 
his  mother  is  sick,  and  wants  you  to  come  and 
see  her.  She  said  she  had  n’t  seen  a real  lady 
for  a year.” 

8 


The  Colonel’s  Opera  Cloak 

“ Is  n’t  it  papa  she  wants  to  see,  if  she  is  ill?  ” 
asked  his  mother. 

“ Oh,  no,  mamma,  it  is  you ; and  she  wants 
you  to  come  quick.  She  says  she  ’ll  come  to 
church  some  day,  maybe.” 

Mrs.  Douglas  went  the  very  next  day,  pro- 
vided with  the  address  on  a card.  She  was  sure 
when  she  reached  the  house  that  Ned  had  made 
a mistake;  for  it  was  in  a fashionable  part  of 
the  city. 

She  found  a handsome  residence,  with  high 
steps,  on  which  two  dirty  white  boys  were  play- 
ing with  a little  black  boy  who  was  not  so  dirty. 

“Does  Mrs.  St.  John  live  here?”  asked  Mrs. 
Douglas. 

“ Yes,  ma’am,”  said  one  of  the  boys,  rising 
and  taking  off  his  hat.  “ Won't  you  come  in?  ” 

“ I’m  Ned  Douglas’s  mother.  Are  you  the 
St.  John  boys?”  she  said,  smiling. 

“ Yes,  ma’am,”  replied  the  little  fellow  who 
had  already  spoken.  “ Mamma  wanted  to  see 
you  very  much.  She ’s  away  from  all  her 
friends  here,  and  Ned  said  you ’d  lived  South. 
Get  up,  you  varmint ! ” he  added  pleasantly  to 
the  colored  boy,  “ and  see  if  the  bell  will  go.” 

The  little  chap  rattled  the  knob,  which  had 


9 


The  Coloners  Opera  Cloak 

evidently  parted  company  with  the  bell,  and 
pounded  on  the  door  with  his  fists. 

“ I ’ll  tell  you  what  to  do,  Jasper,”  said  one 
of  the  boys : “ you  crawl  into  the  basement 
window,  and  run  and  open  the  door.'’ 

The  little  fellow  was  soon  heard  tugging  at 
the  lock  from  the  inside.  After  repeated  efforts, 
the  door  burst  open,  and  sent  him  sprawling  on 
his  back  upon  the  hall  floor,  like  a little  turtle. 

“ Dat  ain’t  no  kind  of  a do’,  Missus,”  said  he, 
picking  himself  up,  and  rubbing  his  head : “ it 
keeps  a sayin’  it  won’t  open,  an’,  jus’  as  yer 
b’lieves  it,  out  it  hits  an’  sends  yer  slambang! 
Dat  door ’s  jus’  like  my  gran’fa’ : ’pears  like 
he ’s  never  goin’  to  lick  yer,  no  matter  what 
yer  does;  an’,  fus’  thing,  he  fetches 
yer  a cuff,  an’  over  yer  goes.” 
While  Jasper  was  thus 
moralizing,  Mrs.  Douglas 
looked  about  to  see  if  the  par- 
lors were  accessible.  Hearing 
a noise  above,  she  involun- 
tarily glanced  up,  and  saw  the 
dark  sallow  face  of  a man,  and 
as  much  of  his  body  as  could  be  safely  balanced 
over  the  banisters,  and  heard  a child’s  giggle. 

lO 


The  ColoneFs  Opera  Cloak 

At  that  moment,  a moist  little  pellet  struck 
her  cheek.  Then  followed  a scuffle,  a slap, 
“ You  nasty  boy ! ” and  the  slamming  of  a door. 

The  front  door  was  too  securely  closed,  or 
she  would  have  retreated. 

Just  then  a black  man  came  up  the  basement 
stairs,  and  bowed  respectfully. 

“Can  I see  Mrs.  St.  John?”  asked  Mrs. 
Douglas. 

“ Yes,  Missus,  if  yer  will  have  de  goodness 
to  wait  one  moment  whiles  I opens  de  parlor 
do’.  De  knob,  I sees,  is  off,”  he  said,  as  calmly 
as  if  it  was  quite  usual  for  knobs  to  step  out 
on  business. 

He  vanished  into  the  back  parlor,  where  a 
murmuring  conversation  was  soon  heard. 

The  sliding-door  groaned,  and  evidently  ran 
off  its  track.  Then  with  a flourish,  as  if  he 
had  that  instant  heard  of  the  arrival  there. 
Pomp  opened  the  front-parlor  door. 

Such  a parlor!  The  shades  were  drawn  to 
the  highest  point,  the  lace  curtains  were  tied 
in  knots;  and,  raising  her  eyes  to  the  frescoed 
ceiling,  Mrs.  Douglas  saw  that  her  unseen  friend 
of  the  spit-ball  had  not  aimed  his  first  at  her,  — 
no,  nor  his  twenty-first. 


The  Coloners  Opera  Cloak 


There  was  a pair  of  cavalry-boots  under  the 
piano,  and  a pan  of  molasses-candy  on  top  of 
it.  A bowl  of  broth  stood  on  the  centre-table. 

The  chair  which  Mrs.  Douglas 
took  refused  to  hold  her; 

and  the  sofa  was  as  com- 

fortable as  a seat  in  a coal- 
bin,  the  springs  being 
broken  and  twisted. 

Pomp  retired  into 
the  back  parlor  to  in- 
form “ Missus  ” that 
the  lady  was 
in  the  other 

room. 

The  rustle  of 
silk  was  now 
heard,  and  the 
beating  of  pillows. 
No  word  was 
spoken ; but  Mrs. 

Douglas  was  con- 
scious of  the  pan- 
tomime which  was  directing  Pomp  as  he  squeaked 
about  the  apartment. 

At  last,  he  appeared  at  the  sliding-door,  which 


The  Coloners  Opera  Cloak 

had  refused  to  close  behind  him,  and  asked  her 
in,  with,  “ Mrs.  Douglas  — Mrs.  St.  John.” 

In  a bed,  in  one  corner  of  the  finely  furnished 
room,  Mrs.  St.  John  half-sat,  half-lay.  She 
motioned  Mrs.  Douglas  to  a chair,  which  the 
poor  lady  tested  with  her  hand  before  seating 
herself. 

Mrs.  St.  John  was  a young  and  very  hand- 
some woman.  She  wore  a lilac  silk  waist,  with 
a lace  shawl  thrown  over  her  shoulders,  fast- 
ened with  a diamond  pin.  Mrs.  Douglas  saw 
the  skirt  of  the  lilac  waist  over  a chair  at  the 
head  of  the  bed:  it  only  accompanied  the  lady 
on  walking  excursions ! 

Mrs.  St.  John  was  very  languid. 

“ You  can’t  tell  how  glad  I am  to  see  some 
one  who  has  lived  South,”  she  said,  in  a low, 
drawling  voice.  “ These  Northerners  are  so  ill- 
bred.  I hate  to  have  my  boys  associate  with 
them,  — it ’s  so  bad  for  their  manners.  I see 
the  difference  in  them  already.  I believe  it ’s 
in  the  air. 

“ The  war  made  things  very  hard  for  the 
Colonel.  He  fought  and  fought ; and  the 
Northerners  stole  everything  they  could  lay 
their  hands  on.  Why,  the  officers,  generals 


13 


The  Colonel’s  Opera  Cloak 

and  all,  would  steal  the  rings  off  our  fingers; 
and  they  grudged  us  every  mouthful  we  ate! 
I was  very  young;  I was  married  during  the 
war;  but  I saw  enough  of  it.  Why,  one  of 
your  generals  — the  head  one,  I reckon  — tore 
the  ear-rings  right  out  of  a lady’s  ears!  The 
Colonel  lost  all  his  slaves,  and  I lost  all  mine, 
except  Pomp : he  knew  what  was  good  for  him ! 
The  ungrateful  things,  — to  clear  out,  after  we 
had  fed  and  clothed  them  for  generations! 

“ The  Colonel  had  heaps  of  money  stolen  by 
your  men.  He  owns  heaps  of  land  in  Texas 
now,  where  there  are  lead-mines;  but  he  can’t 
get  much  money  out  of  it  at  a time,  and  so 
Pomp  has  to  keep  things  going  as  best  he  can. 
It ’s  very  different  from  the  good  old  days. 

“ The  Colonel  brought  us  all  here,  and  then 
went  out  to  his  old  mines.  I 'm  so  much  younger 
than  he,  he  ought  to  stay  at  home  and  look  after 
me.  I was  only  sixteen  when  I was  married. 

“ The  last  time  the  Colonel  was  at  home,  he 
brought  back  a Spanish  gentleman,  Mr.  Cavello, 
to  visit.  He  met  up  with  him  in  New  Orleans. 
The  Colonel  said  he  wanted  to  see  the  city,  and 
that  he  was  a good  friend  of  his.  He  goes  to 
his  club  to  meals. 


14 


The  Coloners  Opera  Cloak 

“ I think,”  continued  Mrs.  St.  John,  — whose 
slow  words  knew  no  pause,  — “I  think  the 
Colonel  has  had  money  of  him,  or  he  ’d  never 
be  so  polite  to  him.” 

“ Do  you  know  any  thing  about  him  ? ” the 
Doctor’s  wife  ventured  to  ask. 

“ Oh,  he ’s  what  he  says  he  is,  — as  rich  as 
can  be ! He  tells  about  his  niggers  and  his 
plantations,  and  he  has  good  diamonds.  I wish 
he  ’d  take  a fancy  to  the  Colonel’s  niece,  — it 
would  be  a good  thing  for  her. 

“ I never  am  very  well,”  she  went  on.  ‘‘  I 
like  to  lie  down,  — it ’s  so  much  easier  than 
to  sit  up.  It ’s  so  cold  here  that  I never  can 
keep  warm  out  of  bed,  and  hardly  in  it.  — Pomp! 
Pomp ! ” 

Mrs.  Douglas  had  seen  Pomp  through  the 
door,  nodding  in  one  of  the  red  satin  chairs. 
He  started  on  hearing  his  name. 

“ Pomp,  my  feet  are  cold  I Bring  me  the 
Colonel’s  opera  cloak.” 

Pomp  began  a search.  He  looked  in  the 
closet  and  behind  the  chairs,  and  finally  went 
on  all  fours  under  the  bed,  whence  he  trium- 
phantly emerged,  with  a large  blue  cape,  lined 
with  scarlet,  with  shining  gilt  clasps  at  the  neck. 

15 


The  Colonel’s  Opera  Cloak 


“ Oh,  I was  telling  you  about  Leslie,”  said 
Mrs.  St.  John,  after  Pomp  had  tucked  her  feet 
up,  and  settled  himself  for  another  nap.  “ I 
wish  I could  marry  that  girl 
off  to  some  rich  Northerner. 
She  says  she  likes  them.  She  ’s 
seventeen  now,  and  over. 
When  the  summer  comes, 
I mean  to  get  her  a lot  of 
new  dresses,  and  take  her 
to  some  fashionable  resort 
for  a month,  to  see  if  I 
can't  get  her 
off.  She  has  no 
mother,  and  I 
must  do  my  duty 
by  her.  I wish  to  mercy 
Mr.  Cavello  would  take  a 
fancy  to  her ! ” 

There  was  a silence.  Mrs.  Douglas  was 
horror-stricken. 

The  Doctor’s  wife  feared  that  Mrs.  St.  John 
expected  her  now  to  take  her  turn,  in  revealing 
all  the  Doctor’s  weak  points.  Disappointment 
awaited  her.  Why,  Mrs.  Douglas  only  called 
them  “ the  Doctor’s  ways,”  to  herself. 

i6 


The  Colonel’s  Opera  Cloak 

But  no,  Mrs.  St.  John  was  only  taking  breath 
to  go  on  with  her  own  affairs. 

“Pomp!  Pomp!  call  Miss  Leslie.” 

Pomp  opened  the  door  into  the  hall,  when 
instantly  there  was  a scampering  and  scuffling. 

“ Yer  unmannered  boys,  hain’t  yer  got  no 
digion,  to  make  yer  act  like  gent’men?  Don’t 
yer  know  de  Bible,  — ‘ ’Member  yer  fader  an’ 
moder  to  keep  ’em  holy ! ’ Peekin’  frou  de  do’ 
at  de  strange  lady,  actin’  ’s  ef  yer  was  raised 
Norf!” 

Leslie  St.  John,  having  been  summoned  by 
Pomp,  came  shyly  into  the  room.  Mrs.  Doug- 
las took  to  her  at  once.  No  one  could  help 
it,  she  was  so  sweet.  She  drew  the  girl  toward 
her  and  kissed  her,  although  she  had  only  meant 
to  shake  hands;  and  Leslie  loved  her  from  that 
minute. 

“ This  is  the  Colonel’s  niece,  that  I was  tell- 
ing you  about,”  said  Mrs.  St.  John.  “ She ’s  an 
orphan,  and  has  n’t  a cent.  Well,  I hope  the 
Northerners  are  satisfied,  when  they  see  the 
poor  starved  orphans  they  made.”  And  Mrs. 
St.  John  looked  severely  at  Mrs.  Douglas,  as  if 
she  had  personally  been  upon  the  war-path. 

Leslie  hung  her  head : she  did  not  fancy 
2 17 


The  Colonel’s  Opera  Cloak 

being  exhibited  as  a representative  Southern 
orphan. 

The  door  now  opened,  and  the  boys  rushed  in. 

“ Mamma,”  cried  one  of  them,  “ excuse  me 
for  interrupting  you,  but  we  must  have  a new 
foot-ball  at  once.” . 

“ Arthur,  you  shall  not  have  one  cent ! I ’m 
going  to  buy  coal  this  time!  It ’s  a very  poor 
way,”  she  added,  turning  to  Mrs.  Douglas,  “ to 
get  it  every  few  hours  in  a basket.  Jasper  for- 
gets it,  and  the  furnace  gets  low.” 

“ I want  a foot-ball,  too,”  said  little  Clarence, 
slipping  round  to  the  bed-side.  “ Arthur  never 
lets  me  play  with  his.” 

“ Look  a-here.  Missus,”  interposed  Jasper, 
with  wide-open  eyes,  “ Massa  Clar’nce  don’t  no 
more  need  dat  foot-ball  dan  he  needs  anoder  foot. 
Dem  little  ten  cent  toss-balls  is  good  enough  for 
sech  a little  boy  as  Massa  Clar’nce.” 

“ ’T  ain’t  neither,”  replied  Clarence,  aiming  a 
blow  at  Jasper. 

“Where  is  that  last  foot-ball  gone?”  said 
Mrs.  St.  John,  languidly. 

“ It ’s  burnt  up.  Missus,”  said  Jasper. 

“ Who  burnt  it?  ” 

“ Nobody  ain’t  burnt  it  but  de  furnace.  Missus. 

i8 


The  Colonel’s  Opera  Cloak 

Massa  Arthur  he  put  it  in  de  coal-hod  when  he 
got  frou  playin’,  an’  I did  n’t  see  it,  an’  petched 
it  into  de  furnace.” 

“ Yer  ought  to  ’er  looked,”  said  Pomp,  in  a 
sharp  tone,  joining  the  group  around  Mrs.  St. 
John,  which  by  this  time  suggested  the  death- 
bed of  Luther.  “ Yer  ought  to  ’er  looked  to 
see  ef  de  foot-ball  was  in  de  hod ! you  ’re  drefful 
keerless.  I ’spect  some  day  you  ’ll  frow  de  silver 
teapot,  what ’s  got  Missus’  great-grand-moder’s 
name  on  to  it,  into  de  furnace.”  And  Pomp  cast 
a sidelong  glance  at  Mrs.  Douglas.  “Yer  must  be 
more  keerful  to  allers  look  in  de  hod : yer  burnt 
up  one  of  my  bes’  shoes  t’  other  day,  yer  knows.” 

“ Oh,  dear,”  said  Mrs.  St.  John,  fretfully,  “ do 
go  away : you  want  to  kill  me,  I know.  Here, 
Arthur,  take  this  twenty-dollar  bill,  spend  five 
dollars  for  all  of  you,  and  bring  me  back  the 
change.” 

Before  long,  Jasper  returned,  and  laid  a bill 
on  the  bed. 

“I  want  — I want  — let  me  see,”  said  Mrs. 
St.  John : “ why,  I want  fifteen  dollars,  and 

here ’s  only  five.” 

“ Why,”  said  Jasper,  his  eyes  starting  out 
white  and  round,  “ yer  said  how ’t  every  one  on 

19 


The  Colonel’s  Opera  Cloak 

’em  was  to  hev  five  dollars.  Massa  Arthur  an’ 
Massa  Wilfrid  dey  got  foot-balls  an’  knives  an’ 
heaps  o’  things,  an’  Massa  Clar’nce  kicked  ’em, 
in  de  store,  an’  hollared,  an’  dey  had  to  buy 
him  things.” 

“ That ’s  just  the  way  those  boys  act  since 
they  came  North,”  said  the  poor  lady,  feebly 
shaking  her  head. 

Pomp  had  been  nodding  again  in  the  satin 
chair.  He  roused  himself  at  Jasper’s  voice,  and 
came  into  the  room. 

“ I ’se  gwine  to  market  now.  Miss  Marie,” 
said  he  to  Mrs.  St.  John,  “ an’  I wants  five  dol- 
lars, ef  yer  pleases.  Ef  I don’t  go  now,  I ’specs 
yer  ’ll  give  Massa  Cavello  a foot-ball  next,  an’ 
den  dare  won’t  be  no  mouf-balls  for  to  eat  when 
de  dinner-time  comes.” 

Mrs.  St.  John  handed  him  the  money. 

“ Now  you  ’ve  got  the  last  cent.  Pomp,  and 
I hope  you  ’re  satisfied ! ” she  said. 

“ Ef  I could  ever  git  de  fust  an’  de  middle 
an’  de  las’,”  said  Pomp  to  himself,  “ I reckon 
things  would  n’t  go  so  contr’y  as  dey  does  now 
in  dis  house.” 

Mrs.  Douglas  was  uneasy.  What  sort  of  a 
woman  was  this?  Who  were  these  people?  She 


20 


The  Coloners  Opera  Cloak 

rose  to  go.  Mrs.  St.  John  begged  her  to  come 
in  often. 

Leslie  sat  in  the  shadow. 

“ You  must  come  and  see  me,  my  dear,”  said 
Mrs.  Douglas,  turning  to  her. 

“ Do  you  really  want  me  to  come?  ” asked  the 
girl,  brightening. 

“ Leslie ! ” said  her  aunt,  in  such  a tone  that 
the  girl  blushed  painfully. 

“ Certainly  I do,”  said  the  Doctor’s  wife.  “ I 
shall  look  for  you  next  week.” 

During  the  call,  Mrs.  St.  John  had  mentioned 
a friend  of  the  Colonel’s,  — Frank  Merriam,  — 
whose  wife  Mrs.  Douglas  knew.  As  soon  as 
she  reached  home,  she  seated  herself  and  wrote 
to  her  friend  : — 

Dear  Mary,  — Did  you  ever  hear  of  a Colonel 
St.  John?  Who  is  he?  Where  is  he?  Where  did 
you  hear  of  him?  Did  you  ever  see  Mrs.  St.  John? 
They  have  hired  an  elegantly  furnished  house  on 
Margrave  Street,  which  now  has  the  air  of  an  auc- 
tion-shop, — no,  that  is  feeble,  — nothing  less  than 
an  earthquake,  assisted  by  chain-lightning,  could 
have  wrought  such  changes ! 

They  evidently  walk  on  the  ceiling;  the  colored 
servant  sleeps  in  the  red  satin  chairs ; they  spill 
broth  over  the  Moquette  carpets,  and  leave  molasses 


21 


The  Colonel’s  Opera  Cloak 

candy  pans  on  the  piano.  Every  thing  is  done  that 
ought  not  to  be  done,  and  nothing  is  done  that  ought 
to  be  done. 

They  take  presents  of  shoes  from  the  Sunday 
school,  and  spend  fifteen  dollars  at  once  for  foot- 
balls and  other  toys. 

There ’s  a Spaniard  visiting  in  the  house,  whom 
the  lady  dislikes  very  much. 

Do  have  instant  mercy  on  my  curiosity,  and  let 
me  hear  from  you. 

She  soon  received  the  following  reply : — 

Dear  Louise,  — I have  heard  of  Colonel  St. 
John.  When?  A few  years  ago,  soon  after  our 
marriage.  Where  ? At  Saratoga,  — where  else 
does  one  hear  of  people?  Where  is  he?  Every- 
where. Who  is  he?  He’s  Colonel  St.  John. 

I have  asked  Frank  for  particulars.  He  says  they 
belong  to  one  of  the  first  Southern  families.  The 
Colonel  is  perfectly  respectable,  he  says,  — only 
rather  pompous  and  “ high-toned.” 

They  are  poor,  having  lost  every  thing  in  the 
war,  except  land  of  the  Colonel’s,  somewhere  in  the 
South  or  West.  Frank  says  he  lives  by  selling  a 
piece  now  and  then.  There  is  supposed  to  be  a 
lead-mine,  and  it  is  really  believed  to  be  valuable, 
so  that  he  may  be  well-ofif  some  day. 

I don’t  know  about  the  Spaniard.  Frank  says 
they  have  a pretty  niece:  have  you  seen  her? 


22 


The  Colonel’s  Opera  Cloak 

Frank  sends  word  that  you  must  not  forget  to 
mention  their  doings  whenever  you  write.  He  went 
to  their  house  once.  The  chain-lightning  and  the 
earthquake  had  been  there  also! 

I saw  the  Colonel  once  at  the  opera.  He  looked 
very  picturesque.  He  wore  a cloak  lined  with  scar- 
let, which  gave  him  a gay,  cavalier  air.  I wanted 
Frank  to  buy  one,  — being  romantic  in  those  days, 
— but  he  said  he  would  sooner  see  himself  in  a 
gray  shawl,  pinned  at  the  neck,  like  old  Mr.  Simp- 
son, — do  you  remember  ? 

I would  n’t  have  written  to  a soul  but  you  to-day, 
for  I have  such  a cold  that  I dare  say  my  b’s  are  all 
p’s,  and  my  m’s  are  all  b’s.  Tell  us  more. 


23 


II 


Bessie  DOUGLAS  was  longing  to  see 
the  St.  Johns.  Mrs.  Douglas’s  account 
of  her  call  had  amused  Bessie  and  her  friends, 
Miss  Wentworth  and  Gertrude  Henderson,  very 
much. 

“Why  cant  we  have  Leslie  to  tea?”  asked 
Bessie.  “What  do  you  suppose  she’d  wear? 
Perhaps  her  aunt’s  silk  skirt,  — perhaps  the 
cavalry-boots  you  saw  in  the  parlor.” 

“ Perhaps  the  red  cloak  which  Mrs.  Merriam 
saw  on  the  Colonel,  and  which  I saw  on  Mrs. 
St.  John,”  said  Mrs.  Douglas,  laughing. 

When  Leslie  was  invited  to  the  Doctor’s  to 
tea,  she  was  delighted  at  first,  and  then  her 
spirits  sank. 

“ O auntie,”  she  said,  “ I can’t  go.  My  dress 
is  n’t  nice  enough.” 


24 


The  Coloners  Opera  Cloak 

I ’ll  lend  you  one  of  mine,”  said  Mrs.  St. 
John : “ it  will  fit  you  well  enough,  I reckon,  if 
you  pin  the  waist  over.  You  can  have  this  lilac 
silk,  if  you  want  it.” 

There  was  a black  and  white  checked  silk 
which  Leslie  would  rather  have  had,  but  she 
knew  better  than  to  ask  for  it;  so  she  took  the 
one  offered  her,  and  tried  to  be  thankful. 

“ Yer  doesn’t  feel  happy,  does  yer,  honey?” 
said  Pomp,  as  he  pinned  her  collar  for  her,  on 
the  day  of  the  visit. 

“ No,  Pomp.  I would  really  rather  stay  at 
home  than  wear  this  waist,  but  Aunt  Marie 
makes  me  go.” 

What  would  yer  have,  ef  I could  find  it  for 
yer?”  asked  Pomp,  as  though  he  was  a good 
fairy,  able  to  give  three  gifts  for  any  three 
requests. 

“ Well,  Pomp,  if  I could  have  that  little  red 
India  shawl,  I could  cover  up  this  waist;  but  I 
don’t  dare  to  ask  for  it,  and,  if  you  do,  she  won’t 
give  it  to  me.” 

“ Oh,  yes,  she  will ! ” said  Pomp,  confidently, 
as  he  vanished  into  the  back  parlor.  He  rum- 
maged the  bureau-drawers  and  the  wardrobe, 
until  Mrs.  St.  John  fretfully  inquired,  without 

25 


, The  Colonel’s  Opera  Cloak 

raising  her  eyes  from  her  French  novel,  what 
he  wanted. 

“ I 'se  lookin’  for  Massa  Clar’nce'  new  shirt,” 
replied  Pomp.  “ I never  see  how  shirts  does 
act,  gittin’  into  all  sorts  o'  places ! Ef  I 'd  made 
clo’es,  I 'd  a gin  'em  ears,  so  dey ’d  come  when 
dey  was  called.  Here  yer  am ! ” he  cried  tri- 
umphantly, shaking  out  something.  I thought 
I ’d  find  yer,  — none  so  deef  as  dem  dat  won't 
hear.”  And  Pornp  “ wobbed  ” the  shawl  into  a 
white  garment  and  hurried  it  out  to  Leslie. 

Leslie  could  not  remember  what  she  had  done 
with  her  hat;  and,  as  it  was  nearly  dark,  she 
said  she  did  n't  mind,  she ’d  wear  Clarence's. 

Pomp  looked  at  her  admiringly  as  she  set  it 
jauntily  on  her  pretty  head.  Then  he  wrapped 
the  opera  cloak  carefully  around  her,  and  gazed 
after  her  until  she  turned  the  corner. 

Leslie  had  never  seen  any  of  the  family,  ex- 
cept Mrs.  Douglas,  and  hardly  dared  to  ring  the 
bell  and  face  them  all. 

As  she  hesitated  on  the  steps,  a young  man 
came  up  and  put  a latch-key  in  the  door.  He 
knew  in  a moment  that  this  odd-looking  girl 
was  Leslie  St.  John. 

“Have  you  rung,  Miss  St.  John?”  he  asked. 

26 


The  Colonel’s  Opera  Cloak 

I know  you,  for  my  sister  told  me  you  were 
coming  to  tea.” 

‘‘  I have  n’t  rung,”  said  Leslie,  dropping  her 
eyes.  That  was  a bad  habit,  Tom  thought,  for 
such  pretty  eyes.  “ I was  waiting  a minute  to 
get  courage.  1 don’t  know  your  sister.” 

“ You  ’ll  know  her  soon,”  said  Tom,  feeling  at 
once  as  if  he  were  protecting  Leslie.  “ She ’s 
easy  enough  to  get  acquainted  with.  You  know 
my  mother  ? ” 

Yes,”  replied  Leslie,  “ and  I think  she ’s 
lovely.  She  was  so  kind,  to  invite  me.  I ’ve 
never  been  out  to  tea  before  in  my  life.” 

What  a time  it  had  taken  to  fit  that  latch-key! 

At  the  opening  of  the  front  door,  Bessie  came 
into  the  hall. 

“ Oh,  how  do  you  do?  ” said  she,  so  cordially 
that  Leslie  at  once  felt  at  ease.  “ Did  you  let 
her  in,  Tom?  ” 

“ Yes,  it  was  me, 

With  my  little  key, — 

I let  her  in,” 

said  Tom,  smiling. 

“ Oh,”  thought  Leslie,  “ what  a handsome 
fellow,  and  so  kind  and  witty  and  elegant ! ” 

She  went  into  the  parlor,  but  felt  very  timid 


27 


The  Colonel’s  Opera  Cloak 

when  she  saw  two  fashionable  young  ladies 
sitting  cosily  on  the  sofa  by  the  fire;  but  she 
laughed  when  Bessie  introduced  her. 

“ Nobody  ever  called  me  Miss  St.  John  before, 
except  your  brother,  on  the  steps.  I forget 
whom  you  mean : could  n’t  you  call  me  Leslie  ? ” 

“ I could,  and  I will,”  said  Bessie. 

Grace  Wentworth  made  room  for  Leslie  be- 
side her.  Gertrude  Henderson  looked  her  over : 
Leslie  felt  her  eyes,  and  was  uncomfortable. 

Miss  Henderson  did  not  say  much.  She  leaned 
back  in  her  corner,  and  looked  into  the  fire,  hold- 
ing her  delicate  hand  before  her  face.  How  her 
rings  shone  and  glistened! 

Grace  Wentworth  and  Bessie  and  Leslie  were 
quite  well  acquainted  by  the  time  the  tea-bell 
rang. 

Tom  came  in  then,  and  Leslie  noticed  how 
Miss  Henderson's  manner  changed.  She  was 
no  longer  listless : her  eyes  brightened,  and  she 
laughed  and  talked,  so  that  Tom  had  only  a 
chance  to  smile  and  nod  to  Leslie. 

When  they  returned  to  the  parlor  after  tea, 
before  the  gas  was  lighted,  Gertrude  Henderson 
played  for  them.  Tom  was  on  the  sofa  next  to 
Leslie,  who  had  seated  herself  in  the  corner. 

28 


The  Coloners  Opera  Cloak 

‘‘How  do  you  like  her  playing?’’  he  asked, 
leaning  toward  her,  while  the  others  were  calling 
for  their  favorite  pieces. 

“ Oh,  it  is  splendid,”  said  Leslie,  “ only  we 
ought  to  have  lights,  blazing  lights,  and  every- 
body should  be  dancing  and  wear  gay  dresses, 
and  there  should  be  long  mirrors  everywhere  to 
make  it  brighter  and  gayer.” 

“ Exactly!  ” said  Tom,  looking  at  her  with  his 
handsome  smiling  eyes,  — “ that ’s  exactly  Ger- 
trude’s music.  I wonder  how  you  ’ll  like  Grace 
Wentworth’s ! ” 

Tom  did  not  talk  any  more  to  Leslie  after 
Miss  Henderson  ceased  playing.  He  and  Ger- 
trude seemed  to  talk  for  all  the  rest.  She  was 
very  amusing,  and  Tom  teased  her.  Leslie  won- 
dered how  he  dared  to  do  so;  but  Miss  Hender- 
son seemed  to  like  it.  The  others  listened  and 
laughed. 

After  a while,  Grace  Wentworth  played;  and 
Leslie  was  enchanted. 

“Do  you  like  that?”  asked  Tom. 

“ Oh,  I do,  I do,”  said  Leslie : “ that ’s  just  the 
kind  I always  knew  I ’d  like.  I never  heard  it 
before.  I want  to  shut  my  eyes  and  forget  every 
thing.” 


29 


The  Colonel’s  Opera  Cloak 

“And  everybody?”  asked  Tom.  “Can’t  I 
speak  to  you  again?” 

“ Oh,  I did  n’t  mean  that,”  said  Leslie,  quite 
shocked  at  her  seeming  rudeness.  “ I only 
meant  that  this  was  the  sort  of  music  for  the 
dark  and  quiet  times.  Do  you  like  it?” 

“ With  all  my  heart,”  said  Tom.  “ Don’t  you 
sing?  You  look  as  if  you  did.” 

“ Oh,  yes,  I sing  for  myself,  and  for  Pomp, 
and  to  put  Clarence  to  sleep,  and  for  Mr.  Cavello 
— sometimes.” 

“ You  don’t  sing  Mr.  Cavello  to  sleep,  do 
you?”  asked  Tom,  laughing. 

“ Mercy,  no ! ” said  Leslie.  “ I reckon  you 
don’t  know  who  Mr.  Cavello  is.” 

“ Can’t  you  add  me  to  the  list  of  the  people 
you  sing  to  ? Come,  Grace  is  through ; ” and 
Tom  took  her  hand  to  lead  her  to  the  piano. 

“ Oh,  I don’t  play  a bit,”  said  Leslie,  drawing 
back ; “ I only  sing.  I ’d  rather  sing  here  in 
the  corner.” 

“ Oh,  do  sing,”  said  Bessie  and  Grace,  who 
had  been  listening;  “we  like  the  voice  alone.” 

What  queer  singing  it  was!  The  room  was 
perfectly  silent.  Every  one  listened.  Her  voice 
had  a sweet,  far-away  sound. 

30 


The  Colonel’s  Opera  Cloak 

**  The  earliest  pipe  of  half-awakened  birds,” 
Tom  said  to  himself. 

She  sang  to  a swinging,  chanting  sort  of 
air,  — 

“ There  was  a little  white  cloud  in  the  sky, 

I saw  it  float  and  float ; 

I said  I will  take  it  for  a sign 
Of  my  own  dear  sailor’s  boat. 

If  the  little  white  cloud  shall  safely  sail 
By  the  black  cloud  rack  in  the  West, 

I know  my  lad  will  come  sailing,  sailing 
To  the  lass  his  heart  loves  best. 

And  the  little  white  cloud,  it  safely  sailed 
By  the  black  cloud  rack  in  the  West, 

So  I know  my  love  will  come  sailing,  sailing 
To  the  lass  his  heart  loves  best.” 

Another ! another ! ” cried  Bessie.  “ Your 
voice  is  lovely.  Don’t  you  think  so,  Gertrude?  ” 

“Yes,”  said  she.  “With  whom  did  you  study. 
Miss  St.  John?  ” 

“ I never  studied  at  all,  except  when  I went  to 
Miss  Paynter’s  boarding-school,  and  then  I didn’t 
learn  much,”  said  Leslie,  laughing.  “ Her  niece 
came  over  from  England,  and  she  taught  me 
my  songs.  I had  a fever  when  I was  there, 
and  she  took  all  the  care  of  me,  and  was  so 
kind!  She  used  to  sing  to  me  half  through 
the  night,  — it  was  better  than  medicine.  She 
sang  another  song  that  I like.” 

31 


The  Coloners  Opera  Cloak 

“ Oh,  do  sing  something  else,”  said  Grace  and 
Tom  at  once. 

The  door-bell  rang  violently. 

“Why  do  people  have  door-bells!”  said  Bessie, 
impatiently. 

A strange  voice  was  heard  in  the  hall.  The 
door  opened  to  admit  the  visitor.  Leslie  shrank 
back  into  the  shadow. 

Mrs.  Douglas  recognized  the  sallow  face  of 
the  gentleman  who  had  balanced  himself  over 
the  banisters  the  day  she  called  on  Mrs.  St. 
John. 

The  lights  were  low,  and  the  Doctor  turned 
them  up. 

“ I am  Mr.  Cavello,”  said  the  stranger,  stand- 
ing in  the  middle  of  the  room  and  bowing. 
“ Mrs.  St.  John,  she  has  sent  me  to  have  Miss 
Leslie  home.” 

“ I told  Pomp  to  come  for  me,”  said  Leslie, 
from  the  dark  corner. 

Mr.  Cavello  turned  toward  her  eagerly. 
“ Your  aunt  needed  Pomp,  Miss  Leslie.” 

“Then  why  didn't  the  boys  come?”  she  asked. 
“ I told  Pomp  to  send  them,  if  he  was  busy.” 

“ Myself  wanted  to  come,’*  said  Mr.  Cavello, 
standing  near  her,  and  looking  straight  into  her 
32 


The  Colonel’s  Opera  Cloak 

eyes,  as  if  no  one  else  was  in  the  room.  “ I 
wanted  to  come.” 

“ I ’m  not  going  now,”  said  Leslie,  turning 
her  head  away  almost  rudely. 

Mrs.  Douglas,  to  break  the  awkward  silence, 
introduced  Mr.  Cavello  to  the  young  ladies, 
who  were  quite  ready  to  be  diverted  by  this 
addition  to  their  circle. 

Leslie  slipped  away  to  the  other  sofa,  and 
seated  herself  by  the  Doctor,  with  a little  smile 
which  said  so  plainly,  May  1 ? ” that  the  good 
Doctor  shook  up  the  sofa  pillow,  and  said,  Cer- 
tainly, my  dear,  — certainly.” 

Then  Tom  came,  and  asked  her  about  her 
songs,  and  she  brightened  in  spite  of  the  dark 
looks  which  Mr.  Cavello  sent  toward  her,  and 
Miss  Henderson’s  open  endeavors  to  entice  Tom 
to  her  side. 

Soon  Mr.  Cavello  was  absorbed  in  Miss  Went- 
worth’s playing,  and  offered  to  sing  a Spanish 
song  with  the  guitar ; and  he  showed  Miss  Hen- 
derson the  accompaniment,  “ turn,  turn,  turn ; ” 
then  the  minor  chord,  ‘‘  la,  la,  la,  la,  la.”  — “ You 
see  how  it  runs.”  Then  he  wrote  the  words 
for  Miss  Wentworth,  .who  was  delighted  with 
the  air. 


3 


33 


The  Coloners  Opera  Cloak 

It  was  charming  music.  ]\Ir.  Cavello's  voice 
was  rich,  and  the  dainty  tinkle  of  the  guitar 
seemed  like  the  sound  of  far-off  water. 

Aliss  Wentworth  said  that,  if  she  shut  her 
eyes,  she  could  see  a Spanish  girl  dancing  in  the 
sunshine,  with  a rose  in  her  hair  and  a lace  scarf 
flying. 

“ Miss  Leslie,  she  can  dance  to  my  music,  and 
make  a prettier  picture  to  your  open  eyes,”  said 
Mr.  Cavello,  turning  toward  her.  “ Come,  Miss 
Leslie,  you  have  a red  shawl  there.” 

The  color  faded  from  Leslie's  cheeks ; her 
pretty  enthusiasm  was  gone. 

“ I cannot  dance  to  your  music,  Mr.  Cavello,” 
she  said.  “ I 'm  not  a Spanish  girl,  — I don't 
know  how.” 

The  girls  begged  her  to  dance;  but  she  shut 
her  lips  tightly  and  shook  her  head,  and  they 
saw  that  it  was  of  no  use  *to  urge  her. 

While  Mr.  Cavello  was  tuning  the  guitar,  the 
bell  rang  furiously  again,  and  the  hall  was  filled 
with  boys’  voices.  The  little  St.  Johns  had 
arrived  in  full  force! 

“ Mrs.  Douglas,”  said  Arthur,  coming  for- 
ward in  his  graceful  way,  “ Pomp  sent  us  for 
Leslie.” 


34 


The  Colonel’s  Opera  Cloak 

But  I am  come  for  her,  too,”  said  Mr.  Ca- 
vello.  You  may  go  back” — A third  ring 
drowned  his  words.  A servant  hurried  to  the 
door. 

“ Is  Massa  Cavello  here  ? ” said  a funny  little 
voice.  “ Is  Massa  Arthur  here,  an’  Massa  Wil- 
frid here,  an’  Massa  Clar’nce  here,  an’  Miss 
Leslie  here?”  And  Jasper  appeared  at  the 
parlor  door. 

‘‘Who  sent  you  here,  Jasper?”  said  Arthur. 
“ Go  home ! ” 

“ My  gran’ fa’  told  me  to  come  an’  see  ’f 
yer ’d  minded  him,  to  come  fur  Miss  Leslie.  He 
s’pected  yer  ’d  done  gone  off  to  de  theatre,  an’ 
forgot  Miss  Leslie;  an’  she  said  how ’t  she’d 
never  go  home,  never,  if  Massa  Cavello  corned 
fur  her.” 

“ Well,  we  did  come,”  said  Wilfrid ; “ but 
we  ’re  going  home,  and  Mr.  Cavello’  is  going  to 
take  her  back.” 

“My  gran’ fa’  said  how’t  Massa  Cavello  warn’t 
fur  to  take  her  home,”  said  Jasper. 

“ Go  home  }^ourself,  and  tell  Pomp  to  mind 
his  own  business,”  said  Arthur,  shutting  the  par- 
lor door  in  Jasper’s  face,  and  quietly  seating 
himself,  as  if  nothing  had  happened, 

35 


The  Coloners  Opera  Cloak 

“ Please  go  on  with  your  music.  I ’m  very 
sorry  to  have  interrupted  you,  ladies,”  he  said. 

“Oh,  dear!”  whispered  Leslie  to  Tom,  who 
was  still  by  her.  “ Oh,  dear,  I am  so,  so  sorry ! 
Your  mother  will  never  invite  me  here  again. 
I ’d  rather  have  gone  with  Mr.  Cavello  than  to 
have  had  them  all  act  so.” 

The  boys  sat  quietly  for  a while,  and  then,  see- 
ing that  this  was  no  party,  and  that  no  ice-cream 
was  forthcoming,  bade  the  family  good-night, 
and  ran  out  without  one  word  to  Leslie. 

The  girls  were  delighted  with  the  new  music, 
and  begged  Mr.  Cavello  to  give  them  another 
song. 

Tom  took  Leslie  into  the  back  parlor  to  show 
her  a picture  he  had  been  telling  her  about.  It 
was  a bit  of  clover-field;  and  in  a cleared  place 
in  the  foreground  two  little  fairies,  with  pale 
blue  wings,  were  “ teetering  ” on  a blade  of  grass 
thrown  across  a strawberry  plant. 

Leslie  was  pleased  with  it. 

“ The  lady  who  painted  that  dreamed  it  first, 
I know,”  she  said. 

“ But  it  was  nh  a lady,  at  all,”  said  Tom : “ it 
was  a young  man,  a friend  of  mine,  — Bob 
Simpson.  He  lives  abroad  now.  I wish  I 
36 


The  Colonel’s  Opera  Cloak 

could  show  you  his  pictures.  They  are  very 
funny,  — many  of  them.  He  ’s  making  money 
fast.  Funny  pictures  sell,  — people  like  to  be 
amused.” 

I think  I should  get  tired  of  a funny  picture,” 
said  Leslie.  “ I could  nt  laugh  very  long  at  it. 
I 'd  rather  borrow  one,  and  send  it  home  again. 
But  I don’t  know  any  thing  about  pictures,  as 
you  do.” 

“ Do  you  remember  Hamon’s  ‘ Autumn,’  or 
the  ‘ Twilight  ’ ? ” asked  Tom. 

“ No,”  said  Leslie.  She  did  not  like  sentences 
beginning,  “Do  you  remember?”  or  “Do  you 
know  ? ” 

“ They  are  dainty  little  things.  I know  you ’d 
like  them.  I ’ll  bring  you  the  photographs  some 
day,”  he  went  on. 

How  delightful ! So  there  was  to  be  a “ some 
day  ” to  look  forward  to. 

Neither  of  these  young  people  was  saying  any 
thing  remarkable;  but  they  were  very  much  in- 
terested in  what  they  said.  Tom  was  handsome, 
and  was  making  himself  agreeable  to  the  dark, 
slender  girl,  who  looked  at  him  with  shy  admir- 
ing eyes.  He  liked  that  better  than  any  fine 
thing  she  could  have  said;  and  she  would  not 
37 


The  Coloners  Opera  Cloak 

have  exchanged  him  for  the  most  learned  man 
in  the  world. 

“ If  you  don’t  join  us  soon,”  said  Gertrude 
Henderson,  looking  in  and  shaking  her  head  at 
Tom,  “ I ’ll  punish  you ! I ’ll  sing  ‘ Silver 
threads  among  the  golden,’  or  ‘ Taking  the  year 
together,  my  dear,’  or  ‘ O father,  dear  father, 
come  home  to  us  now.’  ” And  she  looked  so 
handsome  and  spoke  so  bewitchingly  that  Leslie 
wondered  how  he  could  help  going  to  her. 

“ Or  ‘ Darling,  kiss  my  eyelids  down,’  ” said 
Bessie,  coming  in  and  laughing. 

‘‘  I can  kiss  my  own  eyelids  down  very  well, 
thank  you,”  said  Tom.  “ If  you  ’ll  find  some 
darling  to  kiss  them  up  for  me  in  the  morning, 
I ’ll  be  much  obliged  to  you.” 

“ Why  don’t  you  go  back  ? ” said  Leslie.  “ I 
am  taking  too  much  of  your  time,  — you  are  so 
kind.” 

“ I ’m  never  kind.  I am  always  selfish,  and 
please  myself,”  said  the  young  fellow,  looking 
down  at  her.  “ I stay  here  because  I like  to.  I 
don’t  believe  Mr.  Cavello  thinks  I ’m  very  kind.” 

When  little  Jasper  was  shut  out  of  the  parlor, 
he  had  seated  himself  at  the  back  of  the  hall  to 
enjoy  the  music;  and,  lulled  by  it,  and  soothed 

38 


The  Coloners  Opera  Cloak 

by  the  warmth  from  the  register  near  him,  he 
nodded  off  to  sleep. 

Suddenly  he  awoke.  The  music  had  ceased. 
The  opera  cloak  and  a little  hat  hung  on  the  rack 
beside  him.  He  rubbed  his  eyes,  and  remem- 
bered where  he  was.  Forgetting  that  he  had 
run  off  bare-headed,  he  snatched  the  hat  from  the 
peg,  threw  the  well-known  cloak  about  him,  and 
dashed  past  the  open  parlor  door  at  full  speed. 

Mr.  Cavello  looked  over  his  shoulder.  The 
flying  cape  caught  his  eye,  and  at  the  sound  of 
the  closing  door  he  sprang  from  his  seat,  caught 
his  coat  and  hat  from  the  hall  table,  and  “ slam  ” 
went  the  door  behind  him. 

None  of  the  others  had  seen  Jasper’s  flight, 
and  so  they  were  all  wonder-struck  at  Mr.  Ca- 
vello’s sudden  departure. 

“ Perhaps  there ’s  ‘ Spanish  leave,’  as  well 
as  ' French  leave,’  ” said  Bessie.  Perhaps  he 
could  n’t  bear  to  say  good-by : some  people 
can’t.”  Then  she  burst  out  laughing.  It  was 
certainly  very  funny;  and  Grace  laughed,  and 
they  all  laughed  until  the  tears  ran  down  their 
cheeks. 

Tom  and  Leslie  came  from  the  back  parlor  to 
share  the  fun.  Mr.  Cavello  was  gone,  and  the 
39 


The  Colonel’s  Opera  Cloak 

family  were  crying  with  laughter.  No  one  could 
explain. 

“ Mr.  Cavello  ” — said  Bessie,  and  went  off 
into  another  spasm. 

“ Mr.  Cavello  ” — said  Grace  Wentworth,  and 
then  words  failed  her. 

“ Of  all  your  attendants.  Miss  Leslie,”  said 
Tom,  “ I am  the  only  one  left.  You  ’ll  let  me 
go  home  with 
won’t  you  ? ” 

“Thank  you,” 

I ’m  ashamed 
I must  go  now.’ 
them  good-night, 
with  Bessie  into 
The  opera  cbak 
was  gone,  — so 
was  Clarence’s  hat ! 

They  sought  them 
everywhere  in  vain. 

“ Perhaps  the 
boys  took  them,” 
said  Leslie. 

‘‘  No,”  said 
Tom,  “ I saw  the  boys  go  out.  Mr.  Cavello, 
perhaps?  ” 


40 


The  Coloners  Opera  Cloak 

No/’  said  Bessie.  ‘‘  His  hat  was  on  the 
table.  He  caught  it  on  the  wing.” 

The  cloak  and  hat  were  nowhere  to  be  found. 
So  Bessie  lent  Leslie  a pink  cloud,  — oh,  how 
pretty  she  looked  in  it ! — and  a heavy  shawl, 
and  Tom  opened  the  door. 

There  stood  Pomp,  his  white  eyes  shining. 

The  boys  ain’t  corhe  home,  nor  Jasper 
ain’t  come  home,  an’  I was  afeard  Miss  Leslie 
would  n’t  come  with  Massa  Cavello,  so  I come 
along  myself.” 

They  told  him  of  the  disappearance  of  the 
cloak  and  of  Mr.  Cavello. 

Pomp  shook  his  head : it  was  too  deep  for  him. 

Now  you’ll  have  just  the  escort  you  wanted,” 
said  Miss  Henderson’s  smooth  voice;  but  Tom 
said  he  must  go  too,  to  see  that  every  thing  was 
right.  He  tucked  Leslie’s  hand  in  his  arm, 
much  to  the  delight  of  Pomp,  who  ambled  on 
behind,  proud  of  his  darling’s  conquest. 

Mr.  Cavello  had  seen  Leslie  leave  home  at  dusk, 
arrayed  in  the  opera  cloak  and  Clarence’s  hat; 
and  so,  when  the  flying  red  cape  caught  his  eye 
in  the  Doctor’s  hall,  he  thought  the  girl  was 
slipping  away  from  him  with  his  rival,  and,  his 
hot  blood  rising,  he  flew  after  her. 

41 


The  Colonel’s  Opera  Cloak 


He  had  hardly  run  a block,  when  he  saw  that 
the  cloak  was  worn  by  a boy,  and  that  boy,  John 
Jasper.  Jasper  was  running  at  full  speed;  but, 

<<  hearing  quick  steps  behind,  he 

turned  and  saw  Mr.  Cavello  mak- 
ing after  him. 

Terror  lent  him 
wings,  and  on  he 
rushed.  What  could 
Mr.  Cavello  want  but 
to  shake  him  ? And  that 
was  what  Mr.  Cavello 
certainly  did  want. 

Up  and  down  and 
through  narrow  streets 
Mr.  Cavello  chased  the 
little  black  boy,  who 
dodged  and  hid,  and 
finally  fled  into  a dark 
alley  and  eluded  the 

enraged  lover. 


“ I ’ll  break  every  bone  into  his  body,”  said 
Mr.  Cavello,  “ when  I do 
catch  him ! ” But  he  did 
not  catch  him! 

As  he  reached  the  steps 
42 


The  Coloners  Opera  Cloak 

of  the  St.  Johns’  house  from  one  direction,  Tom, 
Pomp,  and  Leslie  approached  from  the  other. 
They  hung  back  until  he  had  gone  in;  and  then 
little  Jasper  appeared,  out  of  breath  and  panting, 
and  told  how  Mr.  Cavello  had  chased  him,  and  he 
“ had  n’t  done  nothin’.”  Jasper  wore  the  cloak 
and  hat,  and  so  it  was  all  explained;  and  Tom 
was  able  to  clear  up  the  mystery  for  the  ladies 
on  his  return. 

Leslie  said  she  should  love  the  Colonel’s  opera 
cloak  for  ever,  because  it  had  saved  her  from 
Mr.  Cavello’ s escort. 


43 


m 


OM  had  met  Leslie  many  times  in  the 


street  since  the  tea-party,  and  had  walked 
home  with  her.  He  thought  her  the  very  sweet- 
est girl  he  had  ever  seen,  but  he  reflected  that 
often  before  he  had  met  “ the  very  sweetest 
girl,”  and  then  had  changed  his  mind.  But 
this  is  different,”  said  the  young  fellow  to  him- 
self : “ she  seems  to  belong  to  me,  somehow.” 
He  called  on  her  one  afternoon  to  give  her 
the  photographs  he  had  promised.  ‘ I have 
something  else,”  he  said.  “ My  friend  John 
Ackerman,  who  paints  so  beautifully,  has  the 
nicest  wife ! I ’ll  take  you  there  some  day.” 
What,  another  “ some  day,”  thought  Leslie.  “ I 
took  tea  with  them  the  other  evening,  and  she 
gave  me  two  little  poems  about  these  very  pic- 
tures, — they  are  favorites  of  hers,  it  seems,  — 


44 


The  Colonel’s  Opera  Cloak 

and  I have  brought  them  to  you.  Do  you  care 
for  verses?” 

“ Yes,”  said  Leslie,  I like  just  to  say  my 
songs  over  for  the  sake  of  the  words.  And  does 
Mrs.  Ackerman  paint,  too?  I wonder  if  she 
loves  to  make  pictures  and  poetry  ? I wish  you ’d 
ask  her  some  time.  I don’t  know  anybody  who 
makes  poetry.  I ’m  so  sorry  in  the  spring  and 
summer  that  I can’t  say  how  lovely  it  is.” 

“ She  does  n’t  call  this  poetry ; she  said  they 
were  rhymes,”  said  Tom. 

“I’d  like  to  paint,”  said  Leslie;  “only  I’d 
have  to  paint  splendidly,  I suppose,  to  enjoy  it.” 

“ I don’t  know  that.  I know  an  old  fellow  in 
town  who  paints  — I could  n’t  say  horribly,  for 
the  drawing  is  pretty  good,  and  I ’ve  seen  worse 
color;  but  the  very  thing  that  ought  to  be  there 
is  n’t  there.  His  landscapes  never  make  me  feel 

‘ I have  been  here  before, 

But  how  or  when  I cannot  tell.’ 

His  portraits  never  make  me  say 

‘ As  if  her  image  in  a glass 
Had  tarried  when  herself  had  gone.*” 

Leslie  thought  Tom  was  making  it  up,  quota- 
tions and  all,  and  she  listened  with  admiration. 


45 


The  Coloners  Opera  Cloak 

“ Do  people  buy  the  old  man’s  pictures?" 

“ Oh,  once  in  a while,  — often  enough  to  keep 
him  from  starving.  He  lives  behind  a green 
baize  screen  in  his  studio,  which  is  a forlorn 
little  room,  close  under  the 
roof.  He  cooks  his  own 
food,  and  mends  his 
own  clothes,  and 
sleeps  in  some  kind 
of  a sofa  thing, 
which  he  makes 
y up  at  bed-time. 
. The  artists  feel 
sorry  for  him. 
They  help  him 
along ; and  they 
love  him,  too, 
for  his  enthu- 
siasm. He 
thinks  next 
year  and  next  year  he  ’ll  be  a great  painter.” 

“ Is  n’t  it  strange,”  said  Leslie,  “ that  he  has 
such  enthusiasm  for  an  art  he  has  no  genius 
for!” 

“ Ackerman  says  he  has  talent  for  business, 
but  he  ’d  rather  starve,  as  a painter,  than  earn  a 
46 


The  Coloners  Opera  Cloak 

good  income  in  any  other  way.  He  has  a patient 
look  on  his  face  that  is  very  touching,  — poor 
old  Thompson ! I bought  a picture  of  him  once, 
and  gave  it  to  a hospital.  I hope  it  did  n’t  harm 
any  of  the  patients.  I ’ve  wondered  whether 
each  picture  disappoints  him,  or  whether  he  only 
thinks  the  world  is  dull  at  recognizing  genius.” 
Leslie  was  touched  by  this  description. 
‘‘Where  does  he  live?”  she  asked.  “I’ll  get 
Uncle  to  buy  some  pictures  of  him,  — they ’d 
do  for  us ; — we  don’t  know  as  much  about  pic- 
tures as  you  do.” 

“ They  would  n’t  answer  for  you,”  said  Tom. 
“You  are  so  quick  to  see  beautiful  things  that 
they  would  vex  you  all  the  time.  You  would 
know  a good  from  a bad  picture,  I am  sure.” 
Leslie  was  delighted  with  the  praise.  “ Well, 
if  we  did  n’t  like  his  landscapes,”  she  said, 
“ Uncle  might  have  the  boys’  portraits  taken, 
and  mine.” 

“Heaven  forbid!”  said  Tom;  and  then  he 
laughed  to  think  of  the  simper  which  Thompson 
would  invent  for  Leslie’s  mouth.  “ He  must 
have  known  Susan  Fields  sometime,  I think.  I 
went  to  school  to  her  when  I was  a little  chap. 
She  wore  a long  curl  behind  each  ear,  and  she 
47 


The  Coloners  Opera  Cloak 

used  to  snap  me  on  my  head  with  her  thimble. 
The  art-instruction  she  gave  me  was  that,  if  I 
wanted  to  make  a face  smile,  I must  turn  the 
corners  of  the  mouth  up ; if  I wanted  a despond- 
ing expression,  I must  turn  them  down.  What 
stuff!”  said  Tom,  bursting  into  a laugh  at  the 
recollection. 

“ Your  friend  Mr.  Ackerman  gets  a great 
deal  of  money  for  his  pictures,  I suppose,” 
said  Leslie : “ he  paints  good  portraits,  does  n't 
he?  ” 

“ Perfect,”  said  Tom.  “ I M like  to  have  him 
paint  you.  He  asked  me  if  he  might  do  so  for 
the  Exhibition ; but  I should  n’t  like  to  have  your 
face  there,  for  people  to  make  their  idiotic  com- 
ments on.” 

Tom  stopped.  What  right  had  he  to  Leslie’s 
face? 

“Why,  when  did  he  see  me?”  asked  Leslie, 
in  surprise. 

“ One  day  when  we  were  walking.  He  wants 
you  to  come  to  his  studio.” 

“What  could  he  want  me  for  in  a picture?” 
said  Leslie.  “ Does  n’t  he  know  Miss  Hen- 
derson? She’s  splendid,  I think,  — she’s  so 
handsome.” 


48 


The  Coloners  Opera  Cloak 

Tom  could  n't  help  laughing.  Ackerman 
wanted  a face  for  the  line, 

“ I never  loved  but  ain.” 

Gertrude  Henderson!  she  would  be  a model 
for  a genre  picture,  in  a long-trained  French 
dress,  looking  over  her  shoulder  into  a mirror, 
or  chirping  to  a parrot  in  a dainty  boudoir. 

“ You  have  n’t  read  the  verses,”  said  Tom. 
“Do  you  see?  This  young  lady  in  the  picture, 
with  her  hand  over  her  eyes,  is  Miss  Autumn, 
killing  the  flowers.  The  young  gentleman  be- 
hind is  Indian  Summer,  giving  them  another 
chance.” 

“I  like  this,”  said  Leslie,  reading:  — 

* The  foolish  leaves,  who  long  to  follow 
The  southward  flitting  of  the  swallow  ! * 

“ I like  to  play  that  flowers  and  leaves  are 
alive,  and  know  all  that  we  do,  and  are  sorry 
and  glad,  and  have  friends,  and  all  that.” 

“ Mrs.  Ackerman’s  cousin  married  Simpson, 
who  painted  the  fairy  picture  you  liked,”  said 
Tom. 

“And  does  his  wife  paint,  too?”  asked  little 
Leslie,  pitifully.  Did  all  the  ladies  Tom  knew 
4 49 


The  Coloners  Opera  Cloak 

play  and  paint  and  write  poetry,  she  asked 
herself. 

“ No,  she  is  only  bright  and  helpful  to  have 
about,”  said  Tom.  “ Simpson  calls  her  ‘ Daily 
Food.’  ” 

“ That ’s  a very  nice  name  to  be  called,”  said 
Leslie.  “ What  does  Mr.  Ackerman  call  his 
wife?  ” 

“ I don’t  know,  — Mary,  I believe.  They 
don’t  do  their  love-making  before  people,  as  the 
Simpsons  do.  But  Ackerman  was  glad  enough 
to  get  his  wife.  I know  they  had  a very  romantic 
story.  Mrs.  Simpson  told  it  to  me.” 

“ I wish  you ’d  read  this  aloud  to  me,”  said 
Leslie,  holding  out  the  verses : — 

High  up,  upon  the  windy  hill, 

Swingeth  a little  Wild-rose  still  : 

None  had  been  seen  for  many  a morn 
Till  the  chill  hour  when  this  was  born. 

It  swingeth  east,  it  swingeth  west. 

It  has  no  time  for  idle  rest. 

For  never  hath  a Wild-rose  seen 
The  world  in  aught  save  summer  green, 

And  Sumach  clump  and  Maple  bough 
With  autumn’s  fires  are  burning  now. 


To  share  the  Rose’s  lucky  lot, 
Blooms  the  last  blue  Forget-me-not; 

50 


The  Coloners  Opera  Cloak 

And  these  two  marvel  much,  I wis, 

To  see  such  wondrous  sights  as  this, — 
Like  drifts  of  rain-clouds  through  the  sky 
The  birds  at  eve  go  hurrying  by ; 

The  bright  leaves  flutter  on  the  wind, 

As  ill  content  to  stay  behind,  — 

The  foolish  leaves,  who  long  to  follow 
The  southward  flitting  of  the  swallow  ! 

At  eve  came  Autumn  to  the  hill. 

Where  swung  the  little  Wild-rose  still. 
Where  bloomed  the  blue  Forget-me-not 
Beside  it,  in  a sheltered  spot. 

Like  morning  mist  they  saw  her  pass, 

Nor  stepped  she  on  the  crisp  brown  grass. 
The  West  Wind  met  her  coming  down, 
And  flew  to  bear  her  trailing  gown. 

Within  whose  folds  the  Summer’s  fair 
Last  flowers  she  bore  with  tender  care,  — 
The  purple  Aster  wet  with  dew. 

The  Goldenrod  and  Feverfew; 

And  gathered  spears  of  golden  wheat 
From  brown  wild  grasses  at  her  feet. 

She  droops  her  head  with  plaintive  grace 
To  hide  her  tearful  eyes  and  face, 

As  deeming  that  an  evil  hour 
Which  marks  the  blighting  of  a flower. 
Then  on  the  little  bloom  of  blue 
A hollow  golden  cone  she  threw. 

And  on  the  Wild-rose,  freshly  blown. 
Another  little  golden  cone. 

She  lays  her  hands  across  her  eyes, 

Nor  waits  to  hear  their  parting  sighs. 

51 


The  Colonel’s  Opera  Cloak 

As  in  the  sunshine  sails  the  mote, 

See  Indian  Summer  idly  float  — 

A baby  summer,  sweet  and  fair  — 
Delicious  languors  on  the  air 
And  keen,  fresh  odors  from  the  field, 

A silvery  mist  the  meadows  yield 
To  veil  the  hills  no  longer  fair. 

And  throw  o’er  all  a dreamland  air. 

His  golden  rod  with  certain  sway 
Uplifts  the  golden  cones  away. 

“ I Ve  slept,”  said  little  Rose,  “ and  what 
Did’st  thou,  my  dear  Forget-me-not?” 

A little  child  went  singing  by, 

In  childish  treble  clear  and  high, 

“Sweet  is  the  day  the  Lord  was  born. 
And  sweet  the  resurrection  morn.” 
Clearer  and  clearer  trilled  her  voice, 

“’T  is  the  Lord’s  day,  let  all  rejoice  ! ” 
She  took  the  path  across  the  hill,  — 

“ F orget-me-not  and  Wild-rose  still  ? 

O joy  ! The  mill-maid  need  not  go 
Without  the  flowers  she  longs  for  so.” 

The  little  maiden  in  the  mill 

Lay  on  her  bed  so  white  and  still,  — 

So  white  and  still,  she  well  might  seem 
A moonlight  maiden  in  a dream. 

“ Forget-me-not  and  love’s  own  red ! 

The  Lord  hath  sent  them  me,”  she  said. 
When  the  last  light  had  left  the  west, 
The  dead  flowers  lay  on  her  dead  breast. 


52 


The  Coloners  Opera  Cloak 

“ Now  read  the  other/’  said  Leslie.  It  is 
lovely  to  know  the , story  of  a picture.  Does  its 
name  mean  twilight,  did  you  say  ? ” 

Tom  read  on.  What  is  more  delightful  than 
an  audience  of  one,  when  that  one  is  a pretty 
girl  with  soft,  dark  eyes? 

Tom  looked  up  once  in  a while  to  see  if  Leslie 
was  listening. 

Before  the  little  candle’s  light 

Had  showed  the  darkness  of  the  night, 

When  slowly  home,  in  full  content. 

The  cows  through  herby  pastures  went, 

The  little  herd-girl  saw  a sight 
Which  filled  her  with  a strange  delight: 

The  grassy  hill  rose  black  and  high 
On  the  pale  background  of  the  sky ; 

There  like  a fire  of  glowing  red 
The  scarlet  Poppy  waved  its  head  ; 

There,  when  the  air  was  dead  and  still, 

In  village  streets  below  the  hill, 

The  little  breezes  danced  all  night, 

And  frolicked  in  the  still  moonlight. 

She  saw,  as  in  a magic  boat. 

The  Spirit  of  the  Twilight  float; 

Clear  on  her  brow,  she  saw  the  fair 
White  star  of  evening  gleaming  there. 

Her  fluttering  mantle  folded  tight, 

To  cheat  the  chilly  dews  of  night. 

A North  Wind,  flercely  rushing  there. 

Had  sought  to  bear  her  through  the  air 
He  caught  her  in  his  rude  embrace. 

And  showered  wild  kisses  on  her  face. 

53 


The  Coloners  Opera  Cloak 

Then  came  an  East  Wind,  sweeping  down 
From  wearied  sick  folk  in  the  town  ; 

He  tore  her  mantle  wide  apart, 

And  strove  to  chill  her  glowing  heart. 

A West  Wind  to  her  rescue  flew, 

But  what  could  he  between  the  two  ? 

A wind  in  silence  from  the  south 
Laid  tender  kisses  on  her  mouth. 

Her  trembling  limbs  he  closer  drew. 

Round  her  his  warm,  strong  arms  he  threw, 
And,  folded  in  a close  embrace. 

With  heart  to  heart  and  face  to  face. 

They  floated  till  the  black  of  night 
Had  shut  the  star-gleam  from  her  sight. 

The  little  maiden,  shy  with  awe. 

Told  not  her  mother  what  she  saw  ; 

And,  when  the  next  morn  shed  its  gleam, 
She  smiled,  and  thought  it  all  a dream. 

A painter,  sketching  in  the  shade. 

Held  converse  with  the  little  maid. 

And  from  his  glowing  colors  drew 
This  picture,  beautiful  as  true. 

With  quiet  face  and  earnest  eyes, 

The  child  looked  on  in  still  surprise. 

So  wonderful  a thing  it  seemed 
To  paint  the  colors  she  had  dreamed. 

Then  one  who  loved  the  picture  well 
Sought  in  a simple  rhyme  to  tell 
(As  tints  reflected  in  a pool) 

The  story  of  La  Crepuscule. 

Oh,  what  a voice  Tom  had!  It  was  made 
purpose  to  read  poetry  with,  Leslie  thought. 
54 


The  Coloners  Opera  Cloak 

She  pinned  the  photographs  on  the  wall  of  her 
room,  and  learned  the  verses  by  heart. 

Some  time  after  this,  Tom  took  Leslie  to  the 
studio.  It  was  in  Mr.  Ackerman’s  house.  Oh, 
such  a beautiful  house!  The  doorways  were 
curtained,  and  there  were  china  plates  on  the 
wall.  That  almost  made  Leslie  laugh.  The  fur- 
niture had  tiles  set  in  it,  and  it  was  painted  beau- 
tifully, and  looked  just  as  if  it  belonged  to  the 
house,  — as  indeed  it  did.  Mr.  Ackerman  had 
designed  every  piece. 

Leslie  had  never  been  in  a studio  before,  and 
she  was  delighted  with  the  old  furniture,  the  rugs 
and  tapestry,  the  vases,  and  all  the  odd  things 
which  made  up  the  orderly  disorder. 

And  Mrs.  Ackerman  was  so  lovely,  — no,  not 
lovely,  — so  charming.  She  took  the  young  girl 
around  the  room,  and  told  her  about  the  pretty 
things,  and  made  her  forget  herself  altogether. 

She  “ gauged  ” Leslie,  as  she  called  it,  with 
a little  portfolio  of  pictures.  Leslie  nodded  as 
she  turned  them  over,  and  said,  “ That ’s  lovely ! ” 
or  “ Oh,  how  pretty ! ” At  last,  Mrs.  Acker- 
man came  to  a picture  of  a wide  plain  without  a 
tree.  On  the  far  horizon  the  great  moon  was 
rising.  A shepherd  followed  by  his  flock  was 
55 


The  Colonel’s  Opera  Cloak 

going  toward  the  moon.  There  was  very  little 
color  in  the  picture. 

“Oh!”  said  Leslie,  with  a long-drawn  sigh; 
and  she  looked  up  with  brightening  eyes  at  Mrs. 
Ackerman. 


sunlight  which  gleamed  through  the  gray  clouds ; 
and  one,  of  a pure  sky,  and  apple-trees  in  blossom. 
These  were  Leslie’s  favorites. 

While  Mr.  Ackerman  was  showing  Leslie  his 
56 


The  Colonel’s  Opera  Cloak 

old-fashioned  costumes,  Mrs.  Ackerman  took 
Tom  into  her  cozy  corner. 

“ She  is  sweet  and  sincere/’  she  said.  ‘‘  I hope 
you  ’ll  bring  her  again.  I covet  her  face  for  one 
of  John’s  pictures.  I tested  her  with  my  gaug- 
ing portfolio,  and  she  bore  it  bravely.  It  was  a 
pleasure  to  see  the  child  divine  the  best  things; 
and  she  has  never  seen  pictures,  you  say?” 

“ No,”  said  Tom,  “ but  she  seems  intuitively 
to  choose  the  best  in  every  thing.” 

“Does  she?”  said  Mrs.  Ackerman,  laughing. 
Tom  wanted  to  kiss  her,  he  was  so  grateful 
to  her.  Leslie  little  knew  why  he  sang  his 
friend’s  praises  all  the  way  home. 


57 


IV 


The  winter  passed  on,  enlivened  by  various 
events  in  the  family  on  Margrave  Street. 
“ What  about  the  St.  Johns  now?  was  often 
the  question,  at  tea-time,  at  the  Doctor’s.  The 
St.  Johns  were  always  getting  into  trouble;  and 
they  dragged  the  Douglas  family  into  it,  in  one 
way  or  another. 

The  boys  “ made  believe  ” go  to  school,  but 
played  truant  half  the  time.  Work  of  any  sort 
was  not  for  the  noble  young  scions  of  a house 
of  the  “ Chivalry.”  Until  a royal  road  to  learn- 
ing was  discovered,  learning  was  relegated  to 
“ muckers,”  as  these  young  gentlemen  styled  the 
Northern  boys. 

Living  in  the  streets  as  they  did,  it  was  little 
wonder  that  they  made  strange  acquaintances. 
A great  lazy  fellow,  seeing  how  freely  they  threw 
58 


The  Colonel’s  Opera  Cloak 

away  money,  once  urged  them  into  a partner- 
ship in  a pop-beer  and  peanut  stand.  When 
Leslie  found  it  out,  she  cried ; but  Mrs.  St. 
John  laughed.  It  struck  her  like  a prank  of 
young  princes. 

“ They  ’ll  only  lose  money.  They  won’t  make 
a cent,”  she  said,  as  if  the  only  harm  could  be  in 
making  money. 

Arthur  St.  John  complimented  little  Ned 
Douglas  by  confiding  to  him  some  coarse  yellow 
and  green  handbills,  with  instructions  to  ride  in 
the  different  horse-cars,  and  to  hand  the  bills  to 
the  passengers  and  throw  them  from  the  win- 
dows. He  was  to  spend  his  own  money  for 
fares,  and  take  his  pay  in  pop-beer  and  peanuts, 
so  the  “ pardner  ” suggested. 

The  stand  was  in  one  of  the  business  streets; 
and  “ Jim  Kelly  ” turned  many  a penny,  while 
the  St.  John  boys  had  only  the  excitement  and 
the  peanuts. 

Tom  saw  his  little  brother  one  day  stand- 
ing on  a corner,  giving  away  handbills.  He 
took  him  by  the  ear,  and  walked  him  into  a 
doorway. 

“ You  little  villain ! ” said  he,  reading  one  of 
the  bills,  “what  are  you  up  to?  Didn’t  I tell 
59 


The  Coloners  Opera  Cloak 

you  not  to  play  with  those  St.  John  boys,  nor  to 
go  to  their  house?  ’’ 

“ You  go  there  yourself,”  whined  little  Ned, 
wriggling  out  of  his  big  brother’s  clutches. 
“You  go  to  see  Leslie  yourself!  The  boys  say 
you  do.  But  Mr.  Cavello ’s  going  to  take  her 
away.  She  won’t  have  you!  Let  me  go!  ” 

“ What  do  you  think  mother  will  say  to  you  ? 
I fancy  that  the  spanking  days  are  not  over  yet, 
my  young  friend,”  said  Tom,  with  unnecessary 
fervor.  “ Come  with  me ! ” 

Tom  made  Ned  give  the  handbills  to  Mr. 
Kelly,  of  the  pop-beer  stand,  and  paid  him  a 
quarter  for  the  peanuts  the  young  “ drummer  ” 
had  taken  out  for  pay. 

“ Let  me  see  your  license ! ” said  he. 

The  big  fellow  was  scared,  and  confessed  that 
he  had  none. 

“ If  this  is  n’t  shut  up  to-morrow,  I ’ll  see  you 
in  court,  my  friend,’*  said  Tom. 

When  the  St.  Johns,  with  mouths  prepared  for 
peanuts,  joyfully  repaired  to  the  corner  the  next 
morning,  the  stand,  the  boy,  the  pop-beer,  pea- 
nuts and  handbills  had  vanished  like  a vision  of 
the  night. 


6o 


The  Colonel’s  Opera  Cloak 


One  day  Pomp  appeared  at  the  Doctor’s,  with 
a large  tray  containing  a Southern  breakfast,  — 
hoe-cake,  hominy  and  bacon. 

‘‘  Missus  sends  her  compl’ments,”  said  the 
old  fellow.  “ She  ain’t  very  well.  She ’s  an 
infidel  sometimes.  No,  not  ’zackly  an  infidel, 
neither.  She  gits  well  mostly  when  dare ’s 
new  dresses,  or  suthin’  goin’  on,  or  de  Colonel 
comes  home.  I cooked 
dis  on  purpose  for 
yer.” 

Pomp  had  brought 
the  waiter  through  the 
streets  uncovered,  with 
the  Colonel’s  opera 
cloak,  which  was 
hooked  round  his 
neck,  flapping  its  red 
wings  on  either  side  as 
he  walked,  like  a great 
flamingo. 

Bessie  wondered  how  they  had  lived  before  the 
St.  Johns  came  to  enliven  their  dull  days.  The 
Southern  breakfast  was  set  on  the  sideboard  for 
Tom,  as  a sample  of  what  Leslie’s  husband  would 
have  to  eat. 


6i 


The  Coloners  Opera  Cloak 

It ’s  about  time  for  another  scene/’  said 
Bessie,  one  afternoon.  “ I wonder  what  they  ’re 
getting  up  now ! ” 

One  morning,  not  long  after  this,  Leslie  came 
to  the  house,  all  trembling  and  tearful,  to  see 
Mrs.  Douglas. 

Clarence  was  lost ! He  had  taken  his  breakfast 
about  ten  o’clock  the  morning  before ; for  Leslie 
remembered  stepping  over  him  as  he  was  eating 
it  on  the  stairs.  They  hardly  wondered  when 
he  did  n’t  come  in  to  dinner ; but  when  tea- 
time  came,  and  no  Clarence,  the  family  were 
alarmed. 

Pomp  had  gone  out  and  asked  everybody  he 
met;  but  nobody  had  seen  Clarence.  He  went 
to  a policeman,  who  said  the  boy  would  probably 
be  at  home  by  the  time  he  got  back.  “ Lost  boys 
are  always  found  at  home,”  he  said.  Leslie  had 
sat  up  all  night,  and  Pomp  had  been  to  all  the 
police  stations,  and  her  aunt  was  almost  crazy; 
and  would  n’t  Mrs.  Douglas  please,  please  come 
to  see  her? 

Mrs.  Douglas  was  very  sorry  for  them.  They 
were  so  shiftless  that  she  yearned  over  them : so 
shiftless  that  it  was  pathetic. 

She  hurried  on  her  bonnet,  and  went  with 
62 


The  ColoneFs  Opera  Cloak 

Leslie,  first  sending  little  Ned  with  a note  to 
Tom’s  office. 

In  a short  time,  Tom  appeared  at  Mrs.  St. 
John’s,  with  a morning  paper.  He  had  just  seen 
this  item : — 

“ Yesterday,  toward  night,  a man  discovered 
the  body  of  a child  in  the  water,  by  a lumber 
pile  near  Libby’s  Wharf.  It  was  that  of  a boy 
about  nine  years  old.  He  was  apparently  dead. 
His  clothing  was  not  marked.  He  wore  a mixed 
gray  suit,  odd  shoes  and  stockings.  One  was  a 
man’s  stocking  marked  with  a stencil,  the  name 
nearly  illegible.  It  looked  like  Cavetto.  The 
boy  wore  a long  blue  cape,  lined  with  red,  fast- 
ened with  gilt  clasps.  It  had  probably  buoyed 
him  up  when  he  fell  through  the  ice.  He  was 
taken  to  the  City  Hospital.” 

Mrs.  St.  John  went  into  hysterics.  Mrs. 
Douglas  and  Pomp  had  their  hands  full  with 
her. 

Tom  and  Leslie  set  out  for  the  hospital. 
Leslie  wanted  to  run,  but  Tom  called  a carriage. 

She  sat  in  the  superintendent’s  office  while 
Tom  made  inquiries.  He  came  back  in  a minute, 
smiling. 

‘‘  The  little  scamp  is  alive!  ” he  said. 

63 


The  Colonel’s  Opera  Cloak 

Leslie  caught  his  hand  and  kissed  it  over  and 
over,  much  to  the  embarrassment  of  the  little 
old  gentleman,  with  a plaid  neck-tie,  who  sat  at 
the  desk,  his  stiff  white  hair  parted  behind,  and 
peeping  over  each  ear  as  if  to  spy  what  he  was 
writing. 

Tom  took  Leslie  to  Clarence,  and  then  rushed 
back  to  carry  the  good  news. 

Clarence  was  cross.  He  would  n’t  let  Leslie 
kiss  him. 

‘‘What  did  you  put  me  here  for?”  he  asked 
faintly.  “ I don’t  like  this  big  bedroom.  I ’d 
rather  be  home  when  I ’m  sick.” 

“My  darling!”  said  Leslie,  with  tears  in  her 
eyes,  “ I have  come  to  take  you  home.  I did  n’t 
put  you  here.  O Clarence,  why  did  you  run 
away?  Aunty  is  sick:  she  thinks  you  are  dead. 
Mr.  Douglas  has  gone  home  to  tell  her  that  you 
are  alive,  and  to  make  her  well.  Did  n’t  you 
know  you ’d  been  almost  drowned?  ” 

“ No,”  said  Clarence.  “ Was  I ? I knew  I 
went  skating.  I ’ve  been  asleep  for  a good  while, 
and  when  I woke  up  I was  afraid,  here..  I 
thought  maybe  I was  dead,  and  this  was  the  way 
they  did  in  heaven.” 

The  doctor  said  Clarence  must  not  be  moved 
64 


The  Coloners  Opera  Cloak 

for  a day  or  two,  and  that  Leslie  might  stay  with 
him  all  the  afternoon. 

Leslie  held  his  hand,  and  whispered  stories 
to  him,  and  hummed  her  songs  so  sweetly  and 
softly  that  Clarence  soon  fell  into  a deep  sleep. 

Tom  made  Bessie  laugh  at  dinner.  “ Mrs. 
St.  John  was  like  the  affectionate  mother  of  the 
‘ Lost  Heir,’  ” he  said.  “ She  got  on  her  dignity 
at  once  when  she  found  Clarence  was  not  dead, 
and  said  she  should  n’t  speak  to  him  for  a week 
for  giving  her  such  a fright,  and  she  should 
write  to  his  father  to  have  him  put  in  the  Reform 
School ; and  he  should  be  whipped  well  for  this ; 
and  that  Leslie,  who  had  nothing  to  do  but  to 
look  after  the  boys,  should  find,  to  her  cost,  that 
this  carelessness  was  not  to  be  overlooked.” 

“ Was  n’t  it  funny,”  added  Tom,  “ that  ‘ O.  C. 
St.  John,  Esq.,’  as  Bessie  calls  the  opera  cloak, 
led  to  his  discovery?  I forgot,  for  a minute, 
that  the  boy  was  supposed  to  be  dead,  and  roared, 
when  I saw  that  in  the  paper!  And  there  the 
cloak  was,  hanging  over  the  hospital  cot  like  a 
guardian  angel  with  folded  wings.” 

“ And  was  it  Mr.  Cavello’s  stocking  he  had 
on?  ” asked  Bessie. 

Of  course,”  said  Tom.  My  only  wonder 

5 6s 


The  Coloners  Opera  Cloak 

is  that  that  family  don’t  invent  some  way  to 
exchange  heads.” 

As  if  it  was  not  enough  for  Leslie  and  Tom 
to  be  in  love,  or  on  the  way  to  it;  and  for  poor 
Mr.  Cavello  to  be  tearing  his  hair,  as  it  were; 
and  for  Gertrude  Henderson  to  be  tearing  Les- 
lie’s, so  to  speak,  — poor  little  Arthur  must  needs 
take  his  turn,  and  fall  in  love  with  Bessie,  who 
was  five  years  older  than  he.  He  brought  her 
presents,  he  made  pretty  little  speeches.  Poor 
Arthur!  He  was  a handsome,  attractive  boy; 
but  he  could  not  “ tell  time,”  and  he  spoke  of 
“ Hug  Miller,”  in  the  Game  of  Authors,  to  little 
Ned’s  horror. 

One  day  he  sent  Bessie  a parrot  in  a beautiful 
gilt  cage,  and  a lovely  turquoise  ring. 

“ This  is  getting  serious,”  said  Bessie,  laugh- 
ing. “ The  boy  has  taken  to  coming  to  church, 
and  he  glares  at  any  one  who  speaks  to  me. 
I thought  he  ’d  call  Deacon  Watson  out  for  a 
duel,  when  he  shook  hands  with  me  in  the 
aisle.” 

Jasper  appeared  one  day  with  a note  from 
Arthur,  spelled  horribly,  requesting  Bessie  to 
go  to  a “ concirt  ” with  him.  Jasper  was  to 
66 


The  Coloners  Opera  Cloak 

wait  for  an  answer.  He  stood  eating  a russet 
apple,  and  holding  a red  one  in  his  hand. 

“ What  a beautiful  apple  you  have  there ! ” 
said  Mrs.  Douglas,  amusing  herself 
with  the  boy.  Do  you  like  red 
or  brown  apples  best  ? ” 

“Well,”  said 
Jasper,  looking 
very  solemn, 
as  if  he  had  a 
most  important 
question  to  de- 
cide, “ I loves  de 
brown  best.  De 
red  apple  is  de 
puttiest ; but  yer  put 
yer  teef  into  it,  it 
squizzles  up  yer  mouf; 
but  yer  puts  yer  teef 
into  de  brown  apple,  an’  yer  keeps  on  puttin 
yer  teef  in.  Dese  red  apples  is  like  some  folks, 
— dey  charms  de  eye,  but  dere  isn’t  nothin’ 
in  ’em ! Dese  brown  apples,  dey ’s  like  oder 
folks,  — dey  ain’t  so  smarted  up,  but  dey ’s  good 
inside.” 

Mrs,  Douglas  laughed  outright.  She  remem- 

67 


The  Coloners  Opera  Cloak 

bered  Jasper's  moralizing  at  the  front  door  on 
her  first  call  at  the  St.  Johns’. 

“ And  do  you  like  living  in  the  North  or  South 
best  ? ” she  asked. 

“ Well,”  said  the  boy  solemnly,  “ as  fur  as 
watermillions  goes,  I likes  de  Souf  best;  but  as 
fur  as  de  mince-pie  goes,  dat  you  give  me  one 
day,  I likes  de  Norf  best.” 

Mrs.  Douglas  sent  for  some  mince-pie  imme- 
diately. Such  a delicate  hint  and  so  fine  a com- 
pliment must  be  rewarded. 

“ Do  you  ever  go  to  school,  Jasper?  ” inquired 
Mrs.  Douglas,  while  he  was  busy  with  the  en- 
gaging pie,  which  had  so  endeared  the  North  to 
him. 

“ Oh,  yes.  Missus,”  he  replied.  “ I goes 
putty  reg’lar.  I draws  picters  in  a book  some 
days.” 

What  sort  of  pictures  ? ” 

“ Well,  de  teacher  gives  ’em  to  us.  We ’s 
done  de  pumps  an’  coffins,  an’  now  we ’s  on  de 
wine-glass.  I larns,  too,  about  de  speres,  de 
moon  an’  de  stars.  De  sun  is  a yeller  ball,  yer 
know,  an’  it ’s  ketched  on  to  de  globe  wid  a good 
strong  wire,  an’  de  moon  ain’t  so  big,  an’  is 
white,  an’  is  ketched  on  wid  anoder  wire.” 

68 


The  Coloners  Opera  Cloak 

Do  you  understand  about  the  real  sun 
and  earth  and  moon  better,  since  you  learned 
that  ? ” 

‘‘What,  Missus?” 

“ Do  you  understand  that  the  globe  is  made 
like  this  world  you  live  on,  only  a great,  great 
deal  smaller  ? ” 

“ Oh,  no.  Missus,”  said  Jasper ; and  then  he 
added,  rather  surprised  at  Mrs.  Douglas’s  stu- 
pidity : “ We  don’t  live  on  de  globe,  yer  know. 
We  could  n’t,  — ’t  ain’t  no  bigger  dan  dat,” 
circling  his  arms.  “ Massy  gracious ! my  gran’- 
fa’s  two  feet  would  cover  de  world  all  up,  ef  it 
wa’  n’t  no  bigger  dan  a globe.” 

Then,  feeling  that  he  had  exhausted  Mrs. 
Douglas’s  capacity  in  globes,  he  went  on  to 
arithmetic : — 

“ I larns,  ef  a boy  hes  five  chestnuts  in  one 
han’,  an’  two  chestnuts  in  de  oder  han’,  how 
many  chestnuts  does  dat  boy  hev  ? Onswer, 
seven  chestnuts. 

“ Ef  Mary  hes  seven  apples,  an’  Susan  hes 
free  apples,  how  many  hes  dey  bof’  togedder? 
Onswer,  ten  apples. 

“ Ef  John  hes  twelve  alleys,  — no,  morbles,  — 
an’  ” — He  was  evidently  going  straight  down 
69 


The  Colonel’s  Opera  Cloak 

the  page,  when  Bessie  appeared  with  a note, 
and  he  rushed  off. 

The  next  time  Mrs.  Douglas  met  Mrs.  St. 
John,  she  said  to  her  that  she  was  afraid  she 
did  not  know  how  Arthur  was  wasting  his 
money.  He  bought  such  expensive  presents  for 
Bessie  that  it  made  them  feel  very  uncomfort- 
able, and  they  must  return  them  to  him. 

“Oh,  don’t!”  said  Mrs.  St.  John:  “the  poor 
boy  would  feel  so  bad ; and  I ’m  sure  it ’s  a 
very  innocent  way  to  spend  money.  I ’m  only 
glad  he  had  sense  to  buy  things  like  that.” 

As  the  Colonel’s  land  had  hung  on  his  hands 
of  late,  he  had  had  very  little  money  to  send 
home,  and  yet  the  boys  had  been  more  lavish 
than  usual.  Unfortunately,  they  had  bought  ice- 
cream, guns  and  parlor-skates  instead  of  clothes ; 
and  Clarence  w^s  now  obliged  to  stay  in  for 
want  of  shoes. 

One  day  there  was  not  a mouthful  to  eat  in 
the  house.  The  week  before  they  had  lived 
on  “ turkey  and  tart,  and  on  chine,  chine, 
chine.”  Pomp  had  now  no  meal  to  make  a 
hoe-cake,  — so  “ they  had  to  let  the  hoe-cake 
be.” 


70 


The  ColoneFs  Opera  Cloak 

The  morning  mail  brought  no  check  from  the 
Colonel.  Mrs.  St.  John  was  getting  cross. 

“ Come,  Pomp,”  said  she,  “ what  are  you  go- 
ing to  do  now?  We ’ve  got  to  eat,  I suppose,  if 
the  Colonel  does  think  we  can  wait  day  after  day 
for  our  meals.  I reckon  he’s  at  a 

club,  eating  sweetbread 

‘‘Oh,  don’t  yer 
tered,”  said  Pomp. 

“ I ’ll  git  yer  a 
nice  brekfust  putty 
soon.  Things  ain’t 
goin’  hard.  Miss 
Marie,  yer  ’se  only 
hungry.”  Pomp 
had  a trick  of  his 
own  by  which  to  raise  money. 

Toward  dusk  the  next  night,  Tom  was  hurry- 
ing home  from  his  office,  when  a queer  figure 
creeping  along  in  the  shadow  caught  his  eye. 
There  was  a natural  and  an  unnatural  look  about 
it.  He  went  closer ; and  the  man,  feeling  an  eye 
upon  him,  shrunk  into  the  area  of  a house.  Tom 
passed  on,  and,  turning  the  next  corner,  waited 
a few  minutes.  Soon  the  man  came  in  sight, 
and  in  the  light  of  the  street-lamp  Tom  saw  a 


The  Coloners  Opera  Cloak 

cringing  Jew  enveloped  in  the  Colonel’s  opera 
cloak. 

Tom  dashed  at  it  as  if  he  was  rescuing  “ a 
man  and  a brother,”  and  demanded  of  the  Jew 
where  he  had  got  the  cloak.  The  little  man, 
frightened  almost  to  death,  said  it  was  his.  Tom 
demanded  again  how  he  came  by  it,  when  Mr. 
Isaaks  confessed  that  he  had  had  it  so  often  in 
his  pawn-shop,  with  other  things  from  the  same 
place,  that  he  had  come  to  look  on  it  as  one  of 
the  family.  He  had  just  stepped  out  for  a 
moment  to  commune  with  nature  before  supper, 
little  dreaming  what  his  sad  fate  was  to  be. 

Tom  let  him  go,  and  followed  him  home  and 
paid  the  amount  due,  and  sent  the  Colonel’s  opera 
cloak  to  its  owners  by  a boy,  with  directions  to 
leave  it  on  the  steps  and  ring  the  bell. 

Tom  would  have  laughed  to  see  its  reception 
by  the  St.  Johns.  Pomp  opened  the  door.  The 
cloak  lay  on  the  steps,  like  a lost  lamb  come  back 
to  the  fold,  or  a prodigal  son,  or  a shipwrecked 
mariner. 

“ Oh,  massy  gracious ! ” said  Pomp,  bearing  it 
into  the  family  circle  in  the  front  parlor,  where 
all  the  gas-lights  were  blazing,  and  the  shades 
were  still  raised. 


72 


The  Colonel’s  Opera  Cloak 

“Massy  gracious,  Miss  Leslie,  what  yer  tink? 
Dat  ar  op’ra  cloak ’s  done  come  ob  hisself ; paid 
his  own  pawn-ticket,  an’  done  rung  de  bell!  I 
see  his  brass  knobs  a-wigglin’  when  I opened  de 
do’.  De  days  ob  de 
mir’cles  am  returned.” 
Little  Clarence  ran 
to  the  old  friend, 
with  open  arms. 

“ O you  dear 
opera  cloak  I I 
wanted  you  aw- 
ful bad  to-day,” 
he  cried,  with 
delight. 

“ De  op’ra  cloak 
done  come  back.  Missus,” 
shouted  little  Jasper,  running  into  the  back 
parlor,  with  white  eyes  shining.  “ My  gran’fa’ 
done  see  him  walk  up  de  steps,  an’  ring  de  do’, 
an’  walk  in  de  parlor,  good  as  anybody!  ’Pears 
like  he  was  a gent’man  come  to  call.” 

Even  Leslie  was  glad : she  always  felt  dis- 
graced when  their  things  were  in  pawn.  But  she 
wished  they  could  put  Mr.  Cavello  in  pawn,  and 
lose  the  ticket. 


73 


Sometimes  when  Leslie  visited  Bessie, 
Tom  walked  home  with  her  through  Para- 
dise and  the  Elysian  Fields,  called  by  other  people 
Margrave  Street  and  Montgomery  Avenue. 

One  night  they  went  five  blocks  too  far,  by 
mistake.  They  laughed,  and  turned,  only  to 
walk  as  much  too  far  the  other  way;  and  then 
they  woke  out  of  the  dream-land  in  which  they 
had  been  so  aimlessly  wandering,  and  looked 
for  numbers,  and  discussed  the  merits  of  high- 
stooped  and  basement  houses,  and  over-ground 
and  under-ground  railways. 

It  mattered  little  to  them.  Few  steps  or  many, 
under-ground  and  over-ground  cars,  carried  them 
at  lightning  speed  into  a fairy-land,  where  the 
meanest  things  were  set  about  with  halos,  and 
“ Love,  like  snow,  made  all  unseemly  things 
seem  fair.” 


74 


The  Coloners  Opera  Cloak 

Tom  wanted  to  take  Leslie  to  a concert.  Her 
face  had  lighted  up  so  brightly  at  Gertrude  Hen- 
derson’s fine  music,  and  softened  so  sweetly  at 
Grace  Wentworth’s,  that  he  wanted  to  see  her 
enjoy  Thomas’s  orchestra  and  the  Glee-Club 
singing. 

He  stood  in  his  room,  lost  in  thought,  smoking 
away  at  an  unlighted  cigar. 

“ There  never  was  a girl  so  sweet  as  Leslie,  — 
never,  by  George!”  said  the  handsome  young 
fellow,  bringing  his  hand  down  upon  the  mantel- 
piece. ‘‘  I ’ll  take  her  there.  But,  then,  I sup- 
pose she  ’d  wear  one  slipper  and  a cavalry-boot, 
a silk  waist  and  a petticoat ; a stove-pipe  hat  and 
a white  veil,  one  mit  and  a fur  glove;  and,  over 
all,  the  Colonel’s  opera  cloak ! Dear  little  Leslie, 
she ’d  look  like  a pink,  even  then,  I believe.” 

It  gave  Tom  a twinge,  however,  to  think  of 
placing  Leslie  near  Gertrude  Henderson,  or  any 
of  his  fashionable  friends;  not  because  he  was 
ashamed  of  her,  I truly  believe,  but  because  he 
remembered  Leslie’s  quick  blushes  when  things 
were  amiss  in  her  dress  or  about  the  house. 

I know!”  said  Tom.  “I’ll  take  her  to 
drive,  and  it  won’t  be  round  the  park  either,  but 
out  into  the  country  and  through  by-way  and 
75 


The  Colonel’s  Opera  Cloak 

highway.  Things  must  be  getting  summerish 
by  this  time  in  the  country.” 

Tom  had  discovered  a new  way  of  going  home 
from  his  office.  He  went  twelve  blocks  too  far 
up  town,  and  across  two  avenues,  in  order  to 
pass  Leslie’s  house.  He  laughed  at  himself,  and 
called  it  his  “ short  cut.” 

Leslie  learned  to  watch  for  him. 

He  rarely  came  to  call,  but  she  counted  the 
day  lost  when  she  did  not  bow  to  him  from  the 
parlor  window;  and  Tom  felt  despondent  about 
his  business,  if  he  missed  her  face  from  between 
the  dingy  lace  curtains ; and  then  his  kind 
mother  would  say  to  her  boy,  when  she  saw  the 
shadow  on  his  face,  — 

‘‘No  one  ever  got  a great  practice  at  once. 
You  are  doing  as  well  as  any  young  lawyer.” 
Poor  woman ! One  look  from  Leslie’s  shy 
eyes  would  have  proved  better  comfort. 

One  day,  while  Tom  was  taking  his  “ short 
cut,”  it  occurred  to  him  to  make  a call  on 
Leslie,  and  set  a day  for  a drive. 

Pomp  ushered  him  into  the  parlor,  and  went 
to  call  Leslie.  She  was  behind  the  curtains, 
watching  for  Tom.  She  ventured  forth  when 
Pomp  had  shut  the  door. 

76 


The  Coloners  Opera  Cloak 

Poor  old  Pomp ! He  did  n’t  come  back.  He 
had  seen  her  hiding  in  the  curtains;  he  only- 
laughed  to  himself.  “ I reckons  Miss  Leslie ’s 
done  fotch  Massa  Tom ! He  do’  ’no’  ef  his 
head  or  his  heels  am  de  place  fur  to  walk  on,” 
he  said. 

Leslie  was  delighted  at  the  idea  of  the  drive. 
Oh,  she  had  wanted  so  to  see  the  country!  She 
was  always  homesick  in  the  city;  and  even  in 
the  North  there  must  be  some  blossoms  now,  or, 
at  least,  a little  green  grass. 

Her  life  was  a dull  one;  and  she  looked  on 
Tom  as  a kind  angel,  who  had  promised  her  a 
day’s  trip  to  heaven. 

When  the  day  came,  it  was  rather  ‘‘  misty- 
moisty.”  Tom  sought  the  family  opinion  about 
the  weather  so  earnestly,  at  breakfast,  that  they 
asked  if  he  was  going  to  a balloon  ascension. 

“ Whiles  I thinks  it  will  rain,  and  whiles  I 
thinks  it  won’t,”  said  Bessie,  in  broad  Irish, 
mimicking  old  Dennis. 

Tom  kept  his  own  counsel.  He  felt  instinc- 
tively that  Gertrude  Henderson  would  be  more 
kindly  looked  on  than  shy  little  Leslie,  by  the 
family,  even  for  a drive. 

The  sun  came  out  in  the  afternoon.  Tom 


77 


The  Coloners  Opera  Cloak 

appeared  at  Mrs.  St.  John's  with  a smart  buggy 
and  a fine  horse. 

Leslie  had  borrowed  her  aunt’s  bonnet.  Mrs. 
St.  John  was  quite  cheerful  at  this  advance  on 
Tom’s  part.  She  almost  offered  her  red  India 
shawl. 

“ Now,  Miss  Leslie,”  said  Pomp,  who  had 
gone  out  to  hold  the  horse,  yer  ain’t  got  ’nuf 
on,  ef  it  comes  on  rainin’.  Yer  wait  tell  I fotch 
de  Colonel's  op'ra  cloak.” 

Tom  almost  demurred.  “ O.  C.  St.  John, 
Esq.,”  had  acquired  such  a personality  at  the 
Doctor’s,  that  he  was  inclined  to  look  on  it  as  a 
spy.  He  felt  as  if  one  of  the  family  had  been 
forced  on  him.  He  expected  Pomp  to  bring  out 
the  three  young  cousins,  Mrs.  St.  John,  and  Mr. 
Cavello,  next. 

Mrs.  St.  John  waved  her- handkerchief  from 
the  parlor,  while  Pomp  was  seeking  for  the  cloak 
in  all  its  accustomed  haunts.  The  boys  balanced 
themselves  out  of  a window. 

“ Hallo,  Leslie ! Going  to  ride  with  a young 
man!  ho,  ho,  ho,  ho!  Good-by,  Mrs.  Douglas, 
— good-by.”  And  little  Jasper’s  “ te,  he,”  was 
heard  above  their  voices. 

Pomp  laid  the  cloak  over  Leslie’s  feet,  and  the 
7S 


The  Colonel’s  Opera  Cloak 

two  young  people  drove  off  with  flushed  cheeks. 
Leslie  was  almost  crying  with  shame. 

After  they  passed  the  city  limits,  they  came 
into  the  well-kept  roads  of  the  suburbs. 

“ How  should  you  like  to  live  in  one  of  those 
houses?”  asked  Tom,  pointing  to  a^  Gothic  villa, 
with  flower-beds  laid  out  like  a puzzle. 

“ Oh ! ” said  Leslie,  I can’t  bear  that  kind. 
How  dreadful  it  would  be  to  walk  round  that 
garden  in  and  out,  back  and  forth,  up  and  down. 
It  ought  to  have  a whipping-post,  a pillory,  and 
the  Mansion  of  Happiness  in  the  middle.” 

I don’t  like  it,  either,”  said  Tom,  though  he 
had  thought  it  lovely  a moment  before,  and  had 
put  Leslie  in  the  door-way,  and  was  walking  up 
the  path  himself,  all  in  the  flash  of  an  eye;  but 
now  this  dream  faded  as  quickly  as  it  had  arisen. 

“ Show  me  the  kind  of  house  you  like,”  said 
he. 

After  they  had  passed  through  the  long  cov- 
ered bridge,  under  which  the  river  was  roaring 
and  tumbling  over  its  rocky  bed,  they  reached 
the  country;  and  there  Leslie  found  houses  to 
her  mind,  — old  farm-houses,  with  sloping  roofs ; 
large  family  mansions,  with  walled  gardens,  and 
elms  on  the  lawns. 


79 


The  Coloners  Opera  Cloak 

The  little  saxifrage  was  thick  along  the  road, 
— “ pussy-foot  ” Leslie  called  it.  She  got  out 
to  gather  some,  and  Tom  had  to  lift’ her  down. 
They  took  no  time  to  notice  the  black  clouds 
which  were  scudding  rapidly  over  the  heavens. 

Tom  had  hardly  helped  Leslie  into  the  car- 
riage, when  large  drops  began  to  fall. 

“We  are  very  near  a hotel  now,”  said  he,  — 
“ one  you  will  like.  It  is  called  the  Half-Way 
House,  and  kept  in  real  country  fashion.” 

The  rain  was  pouring  in  torrents  when  they 
drove  into  the  stable.  A woman  came  out,  and 
led  Leslie  through  a covered  passage  into  the 
house. 

“ It  is  only  an  April  shower,”  said  she. 
“ I '11  warm  you,  and  by  that  time  it  will  be 
over.” 

There  were  long  tables  in  the  dining-hall, 
well  filled  on  court  and  cattle-show  days,  when 
the  Governor  and  other  great  men  made 
speeches. 

In  the  little  sitting-room  was  an  open  fire,  and 
here  Tom  ordered  tea.  A stern  hair-cloth  sofa 
filled  one  side  of  the  room.  “ Excuse  me,”  one 
would  almost  say  before  sitting  on  it. 

“ I wish  the  fellow  who  cursed  mankind  with 
8o 


The  Colonel’s  Opera  Cloak 

hair-cloth  was  forced  to  eat  it  all/’  said  Tom, 
eying  the  sofa. 

Leslie  laughed. 

“ I wish  our  boys  had  one  to  jump  on,”  she 
said : “ it  would  be  better  than  red  satin  for 

them.” 

Over  the  high  mantel-piece,  “ Wide  Awake  ” 
and  “ Fast  Asleep  ” woke  and  slumbered. 

“ I suppose  it ’s  safe  to  say,”  said  Tom,  “ that 
there  is  n’t  a spot  in  this  wide  world  unblessed 
by  at  least  one  of  those  pictures.  As  the  poet 
says,  — 

‘ The  sea,  the  lone  dark  sea  hath  one,* 
and  again, 

‘Two  are  in  the  church-yard  laid, 

And  two  in  Conway  dwell.’  ” 

Tom  looked  around. 

Where ’s  ‘ God  bless  our  Home  ^ ? Bessie ’s 
afraid  to  marry,  for  fear  that  motto  will  be 
given  her.  Here  it  is ; and  ‘ Love  one  An- 
other,’ — that ’s  good ; and  ' Welcome,’  — that 's 
pleasant.” 

Leslie  wished  he  would  n’t  make  fun  of  every 
thing.  She  did  n’t  dare  to  admire  any  thing 
except  skies,  flowers,  and  music.  She  had  the 
best  of  Tom  there. 

6 


8i 


The  Coloners  Opera  Cloak 

They  sat  by  the  fire  in  the  easy-chairs  with 
the  bright  patch  cushions,  — the  chairs  which 
almost  rocked  themselves,  — while  tea  was  being 
served  on  the  large  light-stand. 

It  seemed  doubly  pleasant,  from  the  rain  and 
wind  outside.  That  would  only  last  through  this 
delightful  tea:  the  woman  had  said  it  was  only 
a shower. 

So  Leslie  smiled  and  beamed  and  laughed  at 
every  thing  Tom  said;  and  she  toasted  the  bread 
a little  more,  and  told  Tom  if  he  did  n’t  eat  his 
crusts  she  should  put  them  on  a high  shelf  for 
his  breakfast;  and  Tom  thought  what  a jolly 
thing  it  would  be  to  have  Leslie  always  at  a 
little  table,  laughing  at  him  and  warming  his 
toast. 

Leslie  said  the  tea  was  that  horrid  English 
breakfast  tea  which  tasted  like  hay;  but  Tom 
said  it  was  nectar,  — he  always  knew  he  should 
be  able  to  tell  the  thing  when  he  met  it;  and 
he  found  ambrosia  in  the  smoked  beef  omelet. 

Leslie  said  he  might  put  his  elbow  on  the 
table,  and  spread  jelly  on  his  bread,  and  sing, 
and  sit  in  his  rocking-chair  while  he  supped, 
because  this  nice  little  time  was  “ just  for 
once.” 


82 


The  Coloners  Opera  Cloak 

Tom’s  spirits  drooped  for  a minute,  and  then 
he  fortified  himself  with  a “ We  ’ll  see.” 

The  opera  cloak  hung  on  a chair  by  the  fire. 
Tom  felt  rebuked  that  he  had  not  asked  it  to 
draw  up  ” and  “ take  a bite.” 

When  tea  was  over,  Leslie  sat  in  her  chair 
by  the  fire,  and  sang  the  little  songs  which 
seemed  to  belong  to  her.  The  light  shone 
through  her  flossy  hair,  and  made  a halo  about 
her  pretty  head.  She  said  she  wished  she  could 
“ purr.” 

The  old  clock  in  the  hall  struck  six.  The  rain 
was  driving  as  heavily  as  ever.  The  woman 
came  in  to  bring  more  wood,  and  Leslie  rather 
reproached  her  for  the  storm,  — “You  said  it 
would  be  over  after  tea.” 

The  woman  laughed.  “ Folks  always  look 
for  showers  in  April,”  she  said ; “ but  this  has 
set  in  for  the  night,  the  men-folks  seem  to 
think.” 

“ Then  we  ought  to  go  now,”  said  Leslie, 
rising  and  taking  a longing  look  at  the  fire. 
“ I hope  I sha’n’t  spoil  my  bonnet,”  she  added. 

The  buggy  was  soon  at  the  door.  Tom  had 
pulled  up  the  boot,  and  had  borrowed  a thick 
robe. 


83 


The  Colonel’s  Opera  Cloak 

Leslie  lamented  over  her  bonnet  so  much, 
that  the  kind-hearted  woman  lent  her  a cloud, 
which  Tom  was  to  return  with  the  robe,  and 
put  the  bonnet  into  a box,  and  stowed  it  safely 
under  the  seat. 

The  last  dim  light  of  day  had  faded  in 
the  west ; and  before  they  had  gone  far  the 
black  night  was  upon  them.  The  wind  blew 
furiously.  They  could  not  see  one  step  before 
them. 

The  roads  were  running  rivers,  and  the  rain 
had  dug  deep  gulleys  by  the  road-side,  into 
which  the  wheels  would  slip  now  and  then,  and 
nearly  upset  the  carriage. 

“ Do  you  know  the  road  ? ” asked  Leslie,  in 
a whisper. 

“ Oh,  yes.  I Ve  been  here  dozens  of 
times.”  But  Tom  was  rather  inclined  to  think 
that  knowledge  was  of  little  avail  in  this 
darkness. 

After  they  had  gone  slowly  along  for  an 
hour  the  horse  was  thrown  suddenly  upon  his 
haunches,  and  the  carriage  gave  a terrible  lurch. 
A crash  was  heard,  and  a deep  voice : “ Vot 
you  vant  here,  runnin’  indo  beobles  dis  vay? 
Git  out ! ” 


84 


The  Colonel’s  Opera  Cloak 

The  horse  groaned  and  fell.  Tom  held  the 
reins  with  his  right  hand,  and  Leslie  with  his 
left. 

“ Don’t  be  frightened,”  he  said;  “ I ’ll  lift  you 
out;”  which  he  did,  and  set  her  ankle-deep  in 
a puddle. 

He  and  the  German  who  had  collided  with 
him  held  a consultation. 

“ Ve  can’t  do  som’thin’  vidout  light,”  said  the 
man,  “ and  I ton’t  see  no  housen.” 

“ I ’m  leaning  against  a fence,”  said  Leslie, 
to  announce  her  discovery.  “ Perhaps  there ’s 
a house  behind  it.  I will  see.” 

Tom  was  sitting  on  the  horse’s  head  to 
keep  him  down;  the  German  was  righting  the 
buggy. 

Leslie  felt  along  the  fence,  and  soon  touched 
a gate-latch.  She  found  a gravel  path,  and, 
stepping  carefully  along,  she  at  last  stumbled 
upon  a house,  and  called  out  triumphantly  that 
she  had  found  one. 

She  pounded  on  the  door,  — perfect  silence. 
Again  she  pounded;  and  at  last  kicked  with  her 
stout  boots,  — Clarence’s  boots,  rather. 

Then  she  heard  steps:  the  door  rattled,  and 
she  was  dazzled  by  a light  in  her  face,  which 

85 


The  Colonel’s  Opera  Cloak 

an  old  woman  in  a night-gown  and  ruffled  cap 
held  over  her  head. 

The  old  woman  looked  blankly  into 
the  darkness. 

• “ We  have  lost  our  way,”  said  Les- 
lie’s voice,  out  of  the  night,  “ and  our 
horse  is  dying,  and  a man  has 
run  into  us,  and  we 
want  some  help.” 
After  the  woman 
had  recovered  from 
her  surprise, 
she  lowered 
the  light,  and 
looked  Leslie 
over. 

“ Come  in,” 
she  said,  at  last. 

“ I ’ll  wake  up  my 
old  man,  and  git  him  out.  We  just  come 
back  from  visitin’  my  darter-in-law,  and  we 
felt  sort  o’  wore  out,  and  went  off  to  bed 
early.” 

Leslie  ran  back  to  tell  Tom  that  help  was 
coming. 

When  she  returned  to  the  'house,  the  old 
86 


The  Coloners  Opera  Cloak 

woman  had  roused  her  husband,  who,  being 
deaf,  did  not  start  fair  on  the  subject. 

“ Whose  horse  did  you  say  ? ” 

I dunno,  — a strange  horse.” 

“ Oh,  a strayed  horse,  — strayed  into  the 
garden-patch?  ” 

“ And  there ’s  a man  and  a woman ! ” 

“ Oh ! a man.  I thought  you  said  a horse.” 

‘‘  And  a woman.” 

Oh ! I thought  you  said  a man.  Was  she 
afoot?  ” 

The  old  woman  brought  another  light,  and, 
seeing  Leslie  shiver,  she  kindled  a little  fire  in 
the  kitchen  stove,  and  made  her  put  her  feet 
on  the  hearth.  She  asked  her  a thousand  ques- 
tions: what  the  man’s  name  was,  and  where  he 
was  “ settin’  out  for;  ” as  if  he  was  an  emigrant 
train. 

Leslie  told  her  their  names,  and  where  they 
lived,  and  answered  all  her  questions. 

The  old  woman  was  delighted  with  her  visitor, 
offered  her  some  mince-pie,  and  was  hurt  when 
Leslie  declined  eating  it. 

“ ’T  ain’t  made  with  dried  apples,”  she  said, 
as  if  Leslie  had  insinuated  that  it  was. 

The  man  came  back  for  another  lantern. 

87 


The  Colonel’s  Opera  Cloak 

'‘Is  the  horse  dead?”  Leslie  screamed  anx- 
iously to  him. 

“ No,  marm,  he  was  only  skeert  a little. 
Nothin’  ain’t  the  matter  with  nothin’.” 

“ Ain’t  you  afeard,”  asked  the  old  woman,  " to 
go  through  the  long  bridge  agin?  It’s  putty 
rickety  in  the  daytime;  and  it  ain’t  no  better  by 
night,  I can  tell  you.  Folks  says  — though  I 
don’t  know  as  it ’s  trew  — there ’s  burglars  about 
there,  and  murderin’  a-goin’  on  nights.  You 
remember  them  little  narrer  winders  ’long  the 
sides,  don’t  you  ? ” 

“ Yes ; ” Leslie  remembered  them. 

" Well,  they  say  how  they  robs  ’em  o’  their 
bosom-pins  and  chains,  and  then  throws  ’em  out 
o’  them  winders.” 

Leslie’s  eyes  opened  with  fright. 

" I have  n’t  any  jewelry,”  she  said.  “ I won- 
der if  they  ’ll  believe  me.” 

“ Oh,  I guess  so,”  said  the  old  woman,  en- 
couragingly. " I never  heard  that  they  did  n’t 
believe  folks.” 

Tom  came  in. 

" We  ’re  all  ready,  Miss  Leslie.  Nothing  was 
broken,  and  we  shall  go  on  very  well,  now.” 

Tom  borrowed  the  old  man’s  lantern,  and 
88 


The  Coloners  Opera  Cloak 

Leslie  held  it  at  arm’s  length  above  her  head, 
while  Tom  drove. 

The  horse  walked  carefully  along.  Tom 
laughed  at  Leslie’s  fears  of  the  bridge : he 
had  been  through  it  at  all  hours  of  the  day 
and  the  night,  and  had  never  even  heard  of  a 
murder  there ; and  so  she  was  quieted.  But 
those  were  solemn  moments,  going  through  the 
covered  bridge.  “ Thump,  thump,  thump,”  went 
the  horse’s  echoing  feet.  It  seemed  as  if  he 
were  in  a tread-mill,  going  over  and  over  the 
same  ground. 

Leslie  held  Tom’s  sleeve  all  the  time,  and 
drew  a sigh  of  relief  when  the  “ thump,  thump,” 
was  deadened  on  solid  ground. 

It  was  ten  by  this  time,  and  they  had  yet 
some  way  to  go. 

“ I shall  never  forgive  myself,”  said  Tom, 
“ for  the  discomfort  and  fright  I have  given 
you,  and  I ’ll  never  forget  what  a brave  girl 
you  were,  to  hunt  up  that  house  in  the  dark. 
Most  girls  would  have  fainted,  or  sat  down  and 
cried.  I took  Gertrude  Henderson  out  once, 
and  she  fainted  when  the  horse  ran  a little, 
though  I never  lost  control  of  him.  It  is  a 
comfort  to  see  such  a brave  girl  as  you.” 

89 


The  Colonel’s  Opera  Cloak 

Leslie's  heart  was  flying  with  happiness. 

“ Oh,  don't  say  you  are  sorry  you  took  me. 
The  drive  out  was  beautiful,  and  the  lovely  little 
tea  I shall  remember  for  ever.  I never  had  such 
a good  time  in  my  life.  I was  just  as  happy  as 
I wanted  to  be  for  once;  and  to-morrow  even 
this  will  be  funny  to  laugh  about.” 

“ I *m  afraid  you  '11  take  cold,”  said  Tom,  in 
a tone  that  was  rapidly  becoming  tender. 

“ Oh,  no,  I sha'n't.  I never  take  cold,”  said 
Leslie.  “ I am  so  strong,  nobody  ever  thinks 
about  me,  or  takes  care  that  I don't  get  cold.” 

“ I know  somebody  who  thinks  about  you, 
and  who  likes  to  take  care  of  you.” 

“Oh,  yes,  — Pomp,'’  said  Leslie,  innocently; 
and  then  it  flashed  across  her  that  he  meant 
himself ; but  that  could  n't  be.  And  Tom 

thought  he  had  said  too  much,  and  would  vex 
her,  and  so  was  silent.  They  rode  along  slowly, 
letting  the  horse  take  his  own  pace. 

It  was  eleven  when  they  reached  Mrs.  St. 
John’s.  Tom  nearly  carried  Leslie  up  the  wet 
steps.  Pomp  was  watching,  and  opened  the 
door  at  the  sound  of  their  feet.  Then  Tom 
brought  in  the  bonnet-box,  held  Leslie’s  hand 
one  long  second,  said  “ good-night,”  and  was  ofiF. 

90 


The  Colonel^s  Opera  Cloak 

Pomp  softly  closed  the  door,  and  motioned 
to  Leslie  to  take  off  her  boots,  and  tiptoe  after 
him  to  the  kitchen.  There  he  had  a cup  of 
coffee  for  her,  and  made  her  put  her  feet  in  hot 
water,  while  she  related  the  incidents  of  the 
drive. 

He  suddenly  struck  a tragic  attitude : “ Miss 
Leslie!  Whar ’s  de  Colonel’s  op’ra  cloak?” 

‘‘Gracious,  Pomp,  I don’t. know!  We  had 
such  a warm  robe,  and  Mr.  Tom  would  wrap  it 
so  close  around  me,  that  I never  thought  of  the 
cloak.  I know  we  started  with  it.  I must  have 
dropped  it  when  the  carriage  tipped  over.  What 
will  Aunt  Marie  say  ? ” 

“Jus’  yer  say  nuffin,  honey;  only  leave  it  to 
me,”  said  Pomp,  rolling  his  white  eyes,  and 
looking  as  wise  as  an  owl.  “ I ’ll  tend  to  de 
op’ra  cloak ! ” 

What  dreams  Leslie  had  that  night ! She 
waded  through  rivers,  and  climbed  mountains; 
but  Tom  was  always  by,  to  help  her;  and  his 
voice  was  ringing  in  her  ears  when  she  awoke 
the  next  morning.  She  could  praise  him  to 
Pomp,  — that  was  a comfort ! 

When  Tom  reached  home,  the  family  were 
in  bed.  At  breakfast,  he  said  that  he  went  out 

91 


The  Coloners  Opera  Cloak 

of  town  in  the  afternoon.  Luckily,  a plate 
fell  and  was  broken,  at  that  minute,  and  the 
conversation  turned  from  him  and  his  affairs. 

Endless  were  the  demands,  the  next  two 
days,  for  the  Colonel’s  opera  cloak.  Pomp  was 
indefatigable  in  searching  for  it.  He  went 
under  beds,  and  in  his  pretended  zeal  peered 
under  the  bureaus  and  wardrobe. 

“ Don’t  be  a fool,  Pomp,”  said  Mrs.  St. 
John,  peevishly,  “ looking  where  you  could  n’t 
squeeze  it.  You ’d  better  look  in  your  mouth 
next ! ” 

When  Pomp  was  alone  with  Mrs.  St.  John, 
he  hinted  mysteriously  that  Mr.  Cavello  “ might 
tell  suthin’,  ef  he  keerd  to,  ’bout  dat  op’ra  cloak. 
When  niggers  set  up  for  gent’men,  nobody 
could  n’t  never  tell  what  dey ’d  would  n’t  do  to 
Oder  folks’s  op’ra  cloaks!” 

“ What  do  you  mean.  Pomp,  opening  your 
eyes  at  me  like  great  cups  and  saucers?”  said 
Mrs.  St.  John,  who  did  not  mind  a word  more 
or  less,  to  strengthen  a simile. 

Pomp  only  shut  his  mouth  tightly,  and  shook 
his  head  very  hard,  and  would  not  say  any 
more. 


92 


The  Coloners  Opera  Cloak 

The  third  day  after  the  drive,  Mrs.  Douglas 
saw  the  queerest  market-wagon  in  front  of  her 
door,  and  heard  a strange  voice  parleying  with 
the  servant  who  had  answered  the  bell. 

She  stepped  into  the 

hall.  An  o 
plaining  to 
as  he  called 
that  his 
had  remem- 
where  the 
young  gentle- 
man lived, 
and  he  had 
brought  home 
his  cape;  and 
he  held  out  to 
her  the  Colonel’s 
opera  cloak. 

“ This  does  n’t 
belong  here,”  said 
Mrs.  Douglas.  “Where  did  you  get  it?” 

The  old  man  related  in  great  detail  how  the 
young  lady  knocked  at  his  door,  and  how  he 
thought  it  was  a hoss  that  had  got  into  the  sass- 
garden;  and  how  she  had  come  in,  and  he  had 
93 


The  Coloners  Opera  Cloak 

gone  out;  and  how  the  young  gentleman  sat  on 
the  boss’s  head,  and  how,  after  they  had  gone, 
his  woman  wished  she ’d  made  ’em  stay  all 
night ; and  how  in  the  morning  he ’d  found  the 
gentleman’s  red  cape  lying  by  his  fence;  and 
how  a bush  had  kept  it  from  the  rain  and  mud, 
— pretty  well  for  a bush ; and  how  his  wife  had 
wanted  him  to  fetch  it  home  that  day,  and  how 
he  could  n’t,  because  his  boss  had  to  be  shoed, 
and  he ’d  had  a stiff  neck  himself  the  next 
day,  and  this  was  the  fust  time  he ’d  had  a 
chance,  and  how  that  they  must  n’t  think  strange 
onto  it. 

He  took  it  so  thoroughly  for  granted  that  Mrs. 
Douglas  knew  all  about  the  affair,  that  she  had 
to  ravel  his  story  to  get  the  right  of  it.  She 
thought  that  “ the  gentleman  ” must  have  been 
Mr.  Cavello,  and  could  not  imagine  how  the 
old  man  had  hit  upon  her  house. 

“Was  it  a very  dark  gentleman?”  she 
asked. 

“ Oh,  no,  ma’am,  — a light  young  man,  with 
a reddish  moustache  and  blue  eyes,  I should 
say;  but  it  was  ruther  dark  to  tell  eyes.” 

“ Oh ! ” said  Mrs.  Douglas,  light  dawning 
upon  her,  — “I  understand.  The  cloak  does 
94 


The  Coloners  Opera  Cloak 

not  belong  here.  I ’ll  tell  you  where  to  take 
it.”  And  she  sent  him  to  the  house  on  Margrave 
Street. 

Mr.  Cavello  was  standing  on  the  steps,  draw- 
ing on  his  gloves.  The  old  man  took  it  for 
granted  that  this  was  his  house. 

“ I Ve  fetched  your  cape  home,”  he  said. 

“ Oh,”  said  Mr.  Cavello.  “ Where  have  you 
found  it?  ” 

“ Under  a bush/’  said  the  old  fellow.  “ It 
wa’n’t  spoilt  at  all,  now,  was  it?” 

“ No.  I will  give  you  a dollar,  if  you  shall  tell 
me  where  you  have  found  it.”  For  nothing  had 
been  heard  for  the  last  two  days  but  lamentations 
over  the  opera  cloak. 

The  old  man  went  carefully  over  the  details 
again,  not  omitting  the  stiff  neck,  and  what  “ I 
said,”  and  what  “ my  woman  said.” 

Mr.  Cavello’s  blood  was  up.  Here  was 
the  pretty  girl  whom  he  wanted  to  marry 
slipping  off  to  drive  with  the  Doctor’s  young 
puppy. 

He  threw  the  cloak  to  Pomp,  whom  he  met 
in  the  hall,  as  he  entered  the  house. 

Pomp  carried  it  to  Mrs.  St.  John’s  room,  his 
eyes  shining,  round  and  white. 

95 


The  Coloners  Opera  Cloak 

“ Look  a-here ! ” said  he,  with  a most  signifi- 
cant expression.  “ Massa  Cavello ’s  ‘ foun'  ’ de 
Colonel’s  op’ra  cloak ! I fought  he 'd  fin'  dat 
ar  cloak,  when  he  heerd  me  a talkin’  so  pinted 
’bout  it,  roun’  his  do’,  and  ev’ry  time  I see  him 
in  de  house.  I ’se  jes’  cotched  him  wid  it  in  de 
hall.” 

Pomp  carried  the  cloak  to  the  kitchen,  and 
looked  it  over  by  the  light.  The  bush  of  which 
the  old  man  had  boasted  had  hardly  done  its 
duty.  There  were  sad  streaks  of  mud  on  the 
outside,  as  well  as  upon  the  scarlet  lining. 

“ I reckon  I ’d  better  see  ’bout  dat,”  said 
Pomp.  “ Miss  Marie  ’ll  done  ax  whar  dat ’s 
ben,  — looks  like  ’t  had  ben  on  a spree,  I do 
declar’.  I mus’  fotch  it  down  to  dat  ar  Chiny 
nigger  what  swashes  de  Colonel’s  shirts,  an’ 
irons  ’em,  when  he ’s  to  home.”  And  he 
carried  it  at  once  to  Ah  Chin’s  laundry,  to  be 
cleaned. 

Bessie  could  n’t  let  the  story  rest.  As  if  the 
Colonel’s  opera  cloak  did  n’t  belong  already  to 
people  enough,  without  Tom’s  borrowing  it! 
She  ignored  Leslie  in  the  matter,  and  asked 
Tom  to  take  her  sack  out  to  drive,  some  fine 
day.  She  said  that  nothing  that  opera  cloak 
96 


The  Coloners  Opera  Cloak 

might  do  could  surprise  her;  she  expected  to 
see  it  riding  on  horseback,  humming  an  air 
from  “ Robert  le  Diable,”  or  walking  up  the 
church  aisle. 

She  said  it  was  a sort  of  goblin,  a new  form  in 
which  some  spirit  was  making  its  appearance; 
for  her  part,  she  was  afraid  of  it,  and  neither  for 
love  nor  for  money  would  she  stay  in  the  dark 
with  it. 

Come,  Bessie,”  said  Tom,  getting  a little 
vexed.  “ If  that  joke  can’t  die  a natural  death, 
let  it  die  an  unnatural  one!  Let  this  be  the  end 
of  the  opera  cloak!  ” 

“ Death ! ” Bessie  shivered.  “ If  the  opera 
cloak  died,  that  would  n’t  be  the  end  of  it ; though 
it  might  be  the  end  of  me.  It  would  come  back 
to  haunt  us,  — I know  it  would.  Just  as  the 
clock  struck  one,  I should  see  it  stand  by  my 
bedside,  up  in  the  air,  on  its  invisible  legs, 
the  gilt  clasps  gleaming  like  eyes.  ‘ Come ! ’ it 
would  whisper,  opening  its  flapping  sides,  ‘ I 
seek  ’ ” — 

Bessie  shut  the  door  just  in  time  to  es- 
cape the  sofa  pillow  which  Tom  aimed  at  her 
head. 

Tom  went  out  of  town  for  a few  days  on 

7 97 


The  Colonel’s  Opera  Cloak 

business.  When  he  returned,  the  lawyer  in 
the  next  office  told  him  that  a colored  man 

had  been  knocking  at  his  door  every  few  min- 

utes since  he  left.  Tom  wondered  what  was 
to  pay  at  the  St.  Johns’  now;  he  was  obliged 
to  go  to  court  to  wait  for  a case  of  his  to  be 
called  up,  but  meant  to  see  Leslie  on  his  way 
home. 

As  he  entered  the  court-room,  the  clerk,  in  a 
brown  wig,  black  beard,  and  thick  spectacles, 

was  reading  from  a large  blue  paper,  in  a loud 

voice,  that  — 

“ John  J.  Jackson,  of  aforesaid,  laborer, 

at  aforesaid,  on  the  tenth  day  of  April,  in 

the  year  of  our  Lord  187-,  with  force  and  arms, 
in  and  upon  one  Ah  Chin,  then  and  there  in  the 
peace  of  said  State  being,  an  assault  did  make, 
and  him  the  said  Ah  Chin,  with  certain  gravel 
and  mire  then  and  there  in  the  hands  of  him  the 
said  Jackson  held,  did  beat,  bruise,  wound,  and 
evil  treat : against  the  statute  in  such  case  pro- 
vided, and  the  peace  and  dignity  of  the  State 
aforesaid.” 

The  prosecuting  attorney  then  arose  and  ad- 
dressed the  court,  standing  with  his  back  to  the 
culprit,  saying  that  the  prisoner  had  been  here- 
98 


The  Coloners  Opera  Cloak 

tofore  convicted  upon  this  indictment:  it  was 
his  duty  now  to  move  for  sentence. 

He  said  he  knew  nothing  of  the  details  of  this 
particular  case,  having  been  out  of  town  when 
it  was  tried  by  his  assistant;  but  that,  from 
the  facts  set  forth  in  the  indict- 


had  been  making  attacks  of  late  upon  the  un- 
offending Chinese  residents  of  the  city.  Such 
men  as  he  should  learn  by  a bitter  lesson  that 
they  are  not  the  lords  of  this  community. 

He  said  he  would  present  to  the  court,  in 
order  that  the  particulars  of  the  offence  might 
99 


The  Coloners  Opera  Cloak 

be  fully  understood,  the  evidence  of  the  China- 
man, and  of  the  policeman  who  had  made  the 
arrest. 

At  this  point,  an  irrepressible  smile  began 
to  break  over  the  face  of  the  judge,  and  half- 
smothered  but  increasing  laughter  was  heard 
in  the  court-room,  above  the  thumping  of  the 
sheriff’s  stick. 

Whereupon  the  prosecuting  attorney,  turning 
round  to  see  what  was  the  matter,  caught  sight, 
for  the  first  time,  of  “ the  prisoner,’’  — a thin, 
small  black  boy,  his  face  ashy  with  terror,  his 
wool  sticking  out  in  little  tails  all  over  his  head, 
vainly  endeavoring  to  raise  his  glaring  white 
eyes  over  the  rails  of  the  small  iron  fence  within 
which  he  was  impounded. 

It  was  John  Jasper  Jackson.  The  prosecuting 
attorney  sat  down,  and  joined  in  the  laughter, 
which  now  became  general. 

At  this  point,  a high,  wide  policeman,  in  blue 
and  gold,  with  a fiery  beard,  and  a mahogany 
club  in  his  belt,  advanced,  pushing  a small  yel- 
low Chinaman  before  him,  with  a black  em- 
broidered gown,  pointed  shoes,  and  a pigtail. 

The  Chinaman  was  duly  sworn,  in  sonorous 
phrases,  which  he  did  not  understand,  “ to  tes- 


100 


The  Colonel’s  Opera  Cloak 

tify  the  truth,  the  whole  truth,  and  nothing  but 
the  truth,  concerning  the  matter  now  in  hearing,” 
wondering  meanwhile  why  the  policeman  wanted 
to  make  him  hold  his  right  arm  up  in  the  air. 

Ah  Chin,  in  response  to  many  subtly  worded 
inquiries,  spoken  in  a loud,  distinct  tone,  was 
finally  brought  to  say  that  the  “ miggee  boy  ” 
threw  mud  at  his  clean  shirts,  and  tried  to  rob 
him  of  “ big  miggee’s  ” red  gown. 

Here  the  officious  policeman,  to  clinch  the 
story,  with  much  crackling  of  brown  paper, 
unfolded,  and  held  up  at  arm’s  length,  red  side 
out,  the  Colonel’s  opera  cloak. 

Pomp,  who  had  been  vainly  seeking  Tom, 
arrived  at  this  moment,  and  was  much  struck 
by  the  pageant. 

“ Massy  gracious ! ” he  cried  to  the  policeman. 
‘‘  Ain’t  yer  done  enuf,  to  ketch  one  pore  lettle 
nigger  boy,  ’thout  hookin’  de  Colonel’s  op’ra 
cloak?  ” 

The  policeman  was  then  called  to  the  witness- 
stand,  and,  folding  the  cloak,  — quite  as  if 
he  was  the  Colonel,  — proceeded  to  tell  what 
he  knew  of  the  affair : how  he  had  seen  this 
black  boy  before  the  Chinaman’s  door,  where 
mud  had  evidently  been  thrown  into  the  shop, 


10 


The  Coloners  Opera  Cloak 

and  had  caught  him  with  his  fist  full  of  wet 
sand. 

At  this  point,  the  prosecuting  attorney  rose, 
and  said  that  in  the  hurry  of  business  he  had 
evidently  been  mistaken  as  to  the  age  and  size 
of  the  offender,  but  that,  nevertheless,  he  merited 
a sharp  punishment. 

The  clerk  demanded  of  the  prisoner  if  he  had 
yet  found  his  “ counsel.” 

John  Jasper,  who  had  caught  sight  of  Tom 
conferring  with  Pomp,  encouraged  by  a wink 
from  the  young  man,  called  out  in  his  high,  thin 
voice,  — 

“ Dar ’s  Massa  Tom,  — he  knows  me,  don’t 
yer,  Massa  Tom?  An’  yer  knows  de  Colonel’s 
op’ra  cloak  yer  had  de  day  yer  took  Miss  Leslie 
out  to  ride;  an’  yer  knows  dat ’s  our  cloak,  an’ 
dat  yeller  man  he  hooked  it,  an’  I seed  it  bangin’ 
in  his  ketchen  door,  an’  he  would  n't  let  me  hev 
it,  an’  I frowed  mud  at  him,  an’  ” — 

Tom  was  just  rising,  when  the  judge  said,  — 

“ Mr.  Douglas,  this  young  desperado  seems  to 
be  a friend  of  yours : what  can  you  tell  us  about 
him?  ” 

Tom,  who  had  been  talking  with  Pomp,  and 
saw  how  matters  stood,  briefly  explained  to  the 


102 


The  Coloners  Opera  Cloak 

judge  the  mistake  into  which  the  boy  had  fallen. 
He  knew  him  to  be  a good  boy,  and,  if  the  judge 
would  release  him,  he  would  be  surety  for  his 
good  behavior:  the  trouble  was  simply  that  the 
boy  loved  this  opera  cloak,  “ not  wisely,  but  too 
well.” 

His  suggestion  was  at  once  carried  out;  and 
Tom  then  and  there  entered  into  a solemn  cove- 
nant with  the  State.  He  acknowledged  himself 
bound,  together  with  his  heirs,  that  the  afore- 
said John  J.  Jackson,  laborer,  should  keep  the 
peace  and  be  of  good  behavior  for  the  term  of 
twelve  calendar  months : in  default  of  which, 
he,  the  said  Thomas  Douglas,  attorney  at  law, 
would  forfeit  the  sum  of  one  hundred  dollars 
unto  the  aforesaid  State,  out  of  his  goods  and 
estate,  and,  in  default  thereof,  his  body;  and 
thereupon  he  became  the  legal  custodian  of  John 
Jasper  Jackson. 

Tom  meant  to  guard  this  fine  story  from 
Bessie ; but  at  the  tea-table  the  thought  of 
Jasper’s  white  eyes  gleaming  over  the  railing 
came  across  him,  and  he  burst  into  such  a fit  of 
laughter  that  the  family  all  jumped : and  then 
they  insisted  on  sharing  the  joke. 

103 


The  Colonel’s  Opera  Cloak 

Bessie  woke  up  in  the  middle  of  the  night, 
and  laughed.  She  hoped  these  delightful  St. 
Johns  would  never  go  away.  To  have  them 
at  hand  was  like  having  a season  ticket  to  a 
circus. 


104 


WHEN  Mrs.  Douglas  was  refurnishing  her 
back  parlor,  she  had  asked  the  Doctor, 
as  a sort  of  compliment,  what  color  in  a carpet 
would  please  him  best.  The  Doctor,  gratified  at 
being  consulted,  replied,  “ Let  the  carpet  be  red, 
and  let  the  paper  have  gold  buttons  on  it ; ” — 
she  had  already  bought  a Morris  paper,  with 
dado  and  tiles,  — “ and  let  the  furniture  be  red, 
too,  — it  looks  so  cheerful.” 

Mrs.  Douglas,  like  the  wise  woman  that  she 
was,  smiled  on  the  Doctor,  and  forthwith  went 
her  own  way. 

The  Doctor  was  the  man  who  had  always 
called  “ gimp  ” “ jimp,”  till  he  had  felt  the  en- 
nobling influence  of  woman’s  love;  and  who 
still  spoke  of  “ shams  ” as  “ mock  pillows.”  He 
knew  not  a polonaise  from  an  arab,  strange  to 
105 


The  Colonel’s  Opera  Cloak 

say,  after  years  of  married  life;  and,  when  his 
wife’s  suit  of  Russian  gray  came  home,  he  asked 
in  a grieved  tone  why  she  and  Bessie  never 
wore  “ red  spencers.” 

Well,  the  room  was  refurnished:  a few  red 
chairs  relieved  its  fashionable  gloom,  and  the 
open  fire  put  a soul  into  it.  A room,  be  it 
ever  so  rich,  is  a tomb  without  an  open  fire  and 
sunshine. 

The  Doctor  looked  about  him  with  pride,  when 
it  was  furnished.  It  was  his  taste,  you  know! 
He  did  not  miss  the  red  carpet  nor  the  gold  spots 
on  the  paper,  which  Mrs.  Douglas  had  inter- 
preted as  being  the  “ gold  buttons  ” designated. 

“ This  is  a room  to  live  in,”  he  said;  and  he 
slipped  into  his  easy-chair  by  the  fire,  and  put 
his  feet  on  the  fender. 

The  rain  was  beating  furiously  on  the  panes, 
and  the  wind  was  lashing  the  vines  against  the 
windows. 

The  poor  Doctor  had  been  out  the  night 
before  and  all  day  long  in  the  rain,  and  he 
prayed  earnestly  that  pain  might  cease,  or  that, 
if  it  should  not,  its  victims  might  send  for  the 
doctor  around  the  corner. 

“ This  is  the  night  of  nights  for  Mrs.  St. 
io6 


The  Coloners  Opera  Cloak 

John  to  have  the  neuralgia,”  said  Bessie,  in 
an  encouraging  tone,  as  she  peeped  out  of  the 
window.  “ Her  unselfish  soul  would  revel  in 
sending  poor  Pomp  out  in  this  furious  storm. 
I seem  to  hear  the  night-bell,  and  Pomp’s  ‘ Massa 
Doctor,  Miss  Marie,  she ’s  ’most  done  dead  wid 
sort  o’  fits  in  her  mouf,  — ’pears  like  to  be  de 
toofache,  ef  anybody  else  had  done  got  it.  She  ’s 
been  ’mos’  dyin’  all  day,  but  she  would  n’t  boder 
nobody  to  git  de  doctor,  tell  in  de  middle  ob 
de  night,  ’cause  she  hates  to  boder  folks  in  de 
daytime.’  ” 

“Stop,  Bess,”  said  the  Doctor,  wearily.  “You 
make  me  tired.  Heaven  rest  the  sufferers  to- 
night, and  delay  Mrs.  St.  John’s  neuralgia  until 
morning.” 

About  one  o’clock,  the  Doctor’s  night-bell  was 
pulled  furiously;  but  he,  poor  man,  was  so  over- 
come with  sleep,  that  he  only  dreamed  that  he 
was  late  for  the  cars,  and  was  making  frantic 
but  ineffectual  efforts  to  jump  on  to  a morning 
train. 

A second  ring  awakened  Tom,  who  put  his 
head  out  of  the  window.  “Halloo!”  said  he. 
“ Want  the  Doctor?  ” 


107 


The  Coloners  Opera  Cloak 

‘‘Oh,  massy  gracious,  Massa  Tom!”  Pomp’s 
voice  called  from  the  darkness.  “ Call  de  Doc- 
tor, for  massy’s  sake:  my  little  Jasper’s  dyin’, 
I ’se  sure.  Don’t  wait  for  nuffin’  but  de  physic- 
jugs,  an’  come  ’long,  for  he ’s  got  de  croup  or 
de  colic  or  de  consum’tion,  or  suthin’.  Miss 
Leslie,  she ’s  a-holdin’  of  him  and  nussin’  of  him 
whiles  I runs  here.” 

Tom  roused  his  father,  who,  with  his  eyes 
half-shut,  gathered  up  his  medicines;  and  the 
two  set  out  together.  Pomp  had  vanished  in  the 
darkness.  • 

When  they  reached  the  house,  Clarence,  in 
his  night-gown,  opened  the  door,  crying  with  all 
his  might,  — 

“ O Doctor,  do  hurry  and  give  Jasper  some 
stuff,  for  he ’s  ’most  dying!  ” And  the  poor  little 
fellow  burst  into  a howl  of  woe,  and  then  threw 
himself  down  on  the  stairs. 

In  the  parlor,  Leslie  sat  upon  the  broad,  low 
satin  sofa,  half-holding  the  sick  child,  who,  pale 
and  weak,  breathed  only  in  faint  groans. 

She  did  not  speak  when  they  entered,  and 
hardly  noticed  Tom,  — he  seemed  far  away, 
with  the  sunshine  and  the  daylight.  Tears  were 
slowly  rolling  down  her  pale  cheeks.  Tom 

io8 


The  Coloners  Opera  Cloak 

wished  he  could  kiss  them  away,  and  then  was 
ashamed  of  the  thought,  where  one  thought  only 
seemed  in  place;  and  he  humbly  and  quietly 
seated  himself  in  the  shadow. 

The  Doctor  examined  the  boy,  and  asked 
questions  of  the  others.  His  throat  had  been 
sore  for  several  days,  and  he  had  “ felt  sick,  — 
but  not  so  sick  that  he  could  n’t  tussle  and 
wrastle,”  Clarence  explained,  as  he  stood  shiv- 
ering in  his  scanty  raiment. 

“ Doctor,”  said  Pomp,  drawing  him  into  a 
corner  near  Tom,  “ I mus’  tell  yer  de  symp- 
tims.  John  Jasper  ain’t  never  dreffle  strong,  — 
his  constitution  ain’t  good.  He ’s  had  de  con- 
sum’tion  twice,  an’  times  an’  times  he ’d  a per- 
ished, ef  I had  n’t  ben  a-lookin’  after  him.  Yes’- 
day  aft’noon  he  fell  down  on  to  his  side,  — de 
side  what ’s  had  de  fits  into  it  before ; an’  wid 
his  sore  froat,  an’  all,  I know  he ’s  gwine  fur 
to  die. 

When  de  death-cravin’  come  on,  says  I to 
me,  ‘ He ’s  a-gwine  to  die.’  Fust,  he  axed  fur 
some  tripe,  an’  I cooked  it  fur  him,  an’  he  eat  it’ 
all  up.  Den  he  axed  fur  some  watermillion,  — 
pore  boy,  — but  I could  n’t  git  him  none,  ’cause 
’t  ain’t  de  time  fur  watermillions.  Den  he  axed 
109 


The  Colonel’s  Opera  Cloak 

fur  some  pie,  an'  I giv  him  dat,  an'  he  eat  it  all 
up;  an’  den  he  axed  fur  some  fish,  an’  I got  dat, 
an’  cook  it  an’  giv  it  to  him,  an’  he  eat  it  all  up. 
I could  n’t  git  no  pigs’  feet  fur  him,  so  he  axed 
fur  liver,  an’  I got  it  an’  cook  it,  an’,  don’t  yer 
b’lieve,  he  never  eat  one  mou’ful  of  it!  Den 
I fought,  he ’s  gwine  to  die  right  away,  dis 
aft’noon. 

“ After  dat,  he  got  better,  an’  spoke  up  smart 
an’  peart,  an’  I fought  p’r’aps  we  could  bring 
him  round ; but  now,  Massa,  he  ’s  gwine,  — I ’ve 
seen  heaps  of  ’em  gwine,  an’  I knows  de  looks.” 

“ I am  afraid  he  is,  my  poor  fellow,”  said  the 
Doctor. 

“ Don’t  tell  Miss  Leslie,”  said  Pomp,  eager  to 
spare  his  darling  one  pain.  “ Don’t  tell  her,  not 
tell  it  comes.” 

“ See,  Jasper,”  said  Wilfrid,  his  trousers  hang- 
ing by  one  sdspender,  ‘‘  you  may  have  my  foot- 
ball.” 

The  poor  little  eyes  unclosed,  and  the  boy 
opened  his  arms  to  receive  it. 

“ That  ain’t  nothing,  Jasper,”  added  Wilfrid. 

I ’ll  give  you  my  new  six-bladed  knife  with  a 
file  and  a tooth-pick  and  a glove-buttoner.” 

A faint  smile  touched  the  poor  little  face. 


The  Coloners  Opera  Cloak 

Tom  never  thought  of  laughing  at  the  inap- 
propriate gilt. 

“ O Jasper,”  cried  Clarence,  bursting  into  a 
torrent  of  tears,  and  throwing  himself  on  the 
floor,  “ you  may  have  every  thing  I ’ve  got,  all 
my  marbles,  and  my  new  alleys,  and  the  kite 
and  the  gun,  and  every  thing,  if  you  ’ll  only  get 
well ! And  I ’ll  let  you  slide  on  the  banisters 
every  day,  if  you  won’t  die.” 

The  crying  aroused  the  sick  child,  and  at 
the  last  words  he  opened  his  eyes  and  looked 
about. 

“ Massa  Doctor,”  said  he,  in  a faint,  choked 
little  voice,  “ is  I gwine  to  die  sure?  Is  I gwine 
to  glory  ’lone,  ’thout  nobody?” 

“ Oh,  I hope  not,  my  little  fellow.  Swallow 
this,  and  try  to  get  well,”  said  the  Doctor,  in  a 
cheerful  tone. 

‘‘  I has  n’t  never  seen  de  Lord  Jesus,”  said  the 
child.  “ But  I done  reckon  I knows  him.  Ole 
Sally,  she  loves  to  die,  and  she  said  he  was  alius 
hangin’  ’bout  de  gate  to  fotch  in  de  folks  dat 
wants  to  git  in,  an’  int’duce  ’em  to  his  frien’s. 
I ain’t  got  nobody  dar,  ’cept  Joseph  an’  Moses 
an’  dat  crowd,  an’  I wants  to  wait,  Massa  Doc- 
tor, tell  my  gran’ fa’  goes  fust,  to  be  lookin’  out 


III 


The  Coloners  Opera  Cloak 

fur  me;  fur  it’s  dreffle  dark  an'  rainy  to-night, 
Massa  Doctor,  and  I ’se  afeerd  dat  de  Lord 
Jesus  can’t  see  a lettle  nigger  boy  when  de 
night ’s  so  black.  I s’pect  I ’d  better  holler  my 
name  all  de  time,  so  he  ’ll  know  I ’se  a-comin’.” 

After  a few  minutes,  he  broke  the  silence 
again : — 

“ I done  wish  I could  wait,  Massa  Doctor, 
tell  my  gran’fa’  an’  Miss  Leslie ’s  done  gone;  fur 
my  gran’fa’,  he  ’d  know,  de  fust  time  I called 
out,  an’  I 'd  see  Miss  Leslie  a-comin’  to  fotch 
me,  in  a white  dress,  an’  tell  me  de  supper 
was  waitin’  hot,  like  de  day  she  did  when  I 
got  los’.” 

Mrs.  St.  John,  whose  faint  sobs  had  been 
heard  in  the  next  room,  appeared  at  the  door 
in  her  wrapper,  with  a severe  look  upon  her 
face. 

“ Doctor,”  said  she,  “ don’t  you  know  of  some 
stuff  to  cure  that  child?  I don’t  see,  for  my 
part,  what ’s  the  good  of  having  a doctor,  if  he 
can’t  cure  a poor  little  darkey.  We  were  often 
ill  South,  but  we  always  got  well;  and  here  we 
are  alive.  I don’t  know  what  the  Colonel  will 
do  to  you,  if  you  let  that  boy  die.” 

The  Doctor  took  no  notice  of  her,  and  she 


The  Coloners  Opera  Cloak 

went  back  to  bed,  convinced  that  she  had  stirred 
him  up  to  his  duty. 

Jasper  opened  his  languid  eyes. 

1 wants  to  see  de  Colonel,”  he  piped,  in  a 
high,  thin  voice,  “ ef  I ’se  a-gwine  to  die.  Massa 
Doctor,  can’t  I live  tell  de  Colonel  gits  home? 
He  said  he ’d  fotch  me  suthin’,  an’  I wants  to 
see  what  it ’s  gwine  to  be.  I loves  de  Colonel, 
an’  de  Colonel  loves  me.  He  said  I might 
black  his  boots  all  de  time,  when  he  come 
agin.” 

Pomp  quietly  followed  the  Doctor’s  orders, 
and  Leslie  bathed  the  cold  forehead  and  the 
passive  hands.  She  bent  over  the  child,  and 
kissed  him.  It  seemed  to  Tom,  sitting  in  the 
shadow,  that  an  angel  had  appeared  to  do  a 
humble  service. 

Outside,  the  watchman  paced  the  sidewalk, 
and  the  rain  drove  against  the  windows.  The 
bells  clanged  four  o’clock. 

The  little  French  clock  ticked  on:  it  was  the 
only  bit  of  furniture  that  did  its  duty  in  that 
‘‘  rack-and-manger  ” house. 

In  the  dim  parlor,  love,  the  best  of  all  things, 
was  surrounding  and  comforting  the  little  black 
boy,  as  his  life  was  slowly  wearing  away.  He 
8 113 


The  Colonel’s  Opera  Cloak 

held  the  ball  in  his  arms.  The  boys  had  poured 
out  their  playthings  around  him,  and  he  appeared 
to  be  enjoying  them. 

Once  in  a while  he  was  seized  with  a terrible 
pain,  and  then  it  seemed  as  if  the  boys  would 
die  with  agony.  Jasper  was  of  the  same  age 
as  Clarence.  I do  not  believe  the  boys  knew  any 
difference  in  their  affection  for  him  and  for 
each  other.  Jasper  and  Clarence  had  often  slept 
together  on  the  parlor  sofa  or  on  the  stairs,  when 
sleep  overtook  them  there. 

The  terrible  spasm  over,  Jasper  opened  his 
eyes,  which  looked  large  and  white. 

“ Ef  I ’se  gwine  to  die,  Massa  Doctor,  an’  de 
Colonel  ain’t  come  home,  I wants  de  Colonel’s 
op’ra  cloak  frowed  over  me.  Ef  I ken  smell  de 
Colonel’s  cigar  in  it,  an’  ef  I shets  my  eyes, 
’pears  like  de  Colonel ’s  here.  I ’mos’  hear 
him  say,  ‘ Jasper,  I ’se  — fotched  — you  — 
somethin’.” 

Leslie  looked  at  the  Doctor  with  questioning 
eyes,  but  found  no  encouragement  in  his  look. 
The  little  head  grew  heavy  on  her  lap,  the 
breathing  grew  fainter  and  slower.  Leslie  drew 
the  opera  cloak  closer  about  the  boy,  as  she  felt 
him  shiver. 


The  Coloners  Opera  Cloak 

For  a moment  the  room  was  silent. 

‘‘  My  dear/’  said  the  Doctor,  ‘‘  it  is  over. 
Little  Jasper  has  gone.”  Then  Leslie  bent  over 
him  and  cried.  She  had  tried  so  hard  to  keep 
back  the  tears  before.  Pomp  came  to  comfort 
her,  as  if  Jasper’s  death  had  been  a greater  grief 
to  her  than  to  him. 

The  boys,  in  utter  misery,  were  sobbing  loudly. 
Mrs.  St.  John  was  endeavoring  to  faint,  and 
Pomp  was  needed  to  take  care  of  her.  Tom 
took  Leslie’s  burning  hands  in  his,  hardly  know- 
ing what  he  did. 

“ Come  home  with  us,”  said  he.  “ You  have 
done  all  you  can:  let  the  others  do  the  rest.” 
Although  she  shook  her  head,  there  was  comfort 
for  her  in  his  voice. 

The  gray  light  struggled  in  through  the  shades 
with  a dismal  loneliness  that  the  night  had  failed 
to  bring. 

The  boys,  worn  out  with  crying,  crept  away, 
awed  into  stillness  by  the  quiet  of  death.  Their 
little  playfellow  now  seemed  old  and  wise  to 
them,  holding  a secret  they  could  not  know; 
and  they  turned  from  him  in  fear. 

“ Nobody  shall  touch  him  but  Pomp  and 

115 


The  Colonel’s  Opera  Cloak 

me,”  said  Leslie,  all  at  once  a thoughtful 
woman. 

She  brought  a night-gown  for  the  little  fellow, 
and  made  a bed  on  the  sofa  to  lay  him  on. 

Pomp,  to  whom  she  had  always  turned  for 
comfort,  was  lost  in  admiration. 

“ O Miss  Leslie,  honey,”  said  he,  in  a trem- 
bling voice,  “ don't  yer  do  any  more : yer  acts, 
chile,  ’s  ef  yer  was  de  gran’ fa’  of  dis  pore  lettle 
boy.  Yer  go  to  yer  bed,  an’  git  a lettle  sleep.” 

“ O Pomp,”  said  the  girl,  “ don’t  send  me 
to  bed!  You’ve  sat  up  for  me  many  a night 
when  I was  sick  or  sorry;  and  I sha’n’t  desert 
you  now  in  your  trouble.  Let  the  others  go. 
I will  stay  with  you.” 

The  Doctor  and  Tom  went  away,  and  left  the 
tried  friends  together  in  the  dreary  house. 

In  the  morning  Mrs.  Douglas  went  to  see 
Leslie.  She  knew  that  Mrs.  St.  John  would 
only  appear  as  chief  mourner,  — not  a helpful 
character  to  assume. 

The  unruly  door  between  the  parlors  had  been 
closed.  Mrs.  St.  John  had  exchanged  rooms 
with  Leslie : it  made  her  nervous  to  be  so  near 
a dead  person. 

Leslie  was  laying  flowers  about  the  parlor. 

ii6 


The  Coloners  Opera  Cloak 

“ I shall  never  forget  your  sending  me  these,” 
said  she,  going  to  Mrs.  Douglas,  with  a tearful 
smile.  But  Mrs.  Douglas  had  not  sent  them. 

‘‘  Nobody  can  do  any  thing  for  me,”  she 
added.  “ The  boys  have  been  so  good,  poor 
fellows!  They  are  almost  sick  with  crying.  I 
am  going  with  Pomp  this  afternoon,  to  buy  a 
place  in  the  cemetery  for  poor  little  Jasper.  Oh, 
what  a dreadful  thing  it  is  to  die  — or  to  live  1 ” 
cried  the  girl,  breaking  down,  and  throwing  her 
arms  about  Mrs.  Douglas,  who  took  her  to  her 
heart  in  real  motherly  fashion,  smoothing  her  hair 
and  kissing  her. 

“ You  must  come  to  stay  with  us  for  a few 
days,  my  dear,  when  this  is  over,  and  get  rested,” 
she  said. 

The  next  day  Tom  and  Bessie  went  to  the 
house.  The  minister  was  there.  He  read  a few 
lines  of  comfort,  and  spoke  words  of  kindness; 
and  then  Pomp  and  the  others  took  little  Jasper 
to  his  last  resting-place. 

They  stood  by  the  grave  for  a moment,  while 
Pomp  muttered  a short  prayer,  and  reverently 
raised  his  hat,  — it  was  Mr.  Cavello’s  hat,  — and 
then,  drawing  the  Colonel’s  opera  cloak  about 
him,  he  put  Leslie  and  the  rest  of  the  company 
117 


The  Colonel’s  Opera  Cloak 

into  the  carriages,  and  turned  his  face  toward 
home. 


“ Dis  yere  death ’s  a mighty  myste’ous  thing, 
Miss  Leslie,”  said  Pomp,  as  the  two  sat,  a 


short  time 
after  this, 
on  the  kitchen 
stairs,  waiting  for  the 
kettle  to  boil.  Stairs 
were  much  approved  of  as  seats  by  the  St. 
Johns : they  were  always  safe ; and  chairs  were 
treacherous,  and  never  could  be  depended  on. 
“Yes,  Pomp,”  said  Leslie:  “a  few  days  ago, 

ii8 


The  Coloners  Opera  Cloak 

and  we  could  ask  Jasper  what  he  knew  or 
felt  or  thought;  and  now,  if  we  asked  him, 
he  could  n’t  tell  us  so  that  we  could  understand.” 
“ Why,  Miss  Leslie,”  asked  Pomp,  in  sudden 
alarm,  “why  couldn’t  we  un’stan’  him?  Yer 
don’t  ’spect  he  ’ll  talk  de  wrong  way,  like  de 
Jew  in  de  pawn-shop,  or  de  Chinyman,  does 
■yer,  — so ’t  I can’t  un’stan’  him  when  I gits 
dar?  I hope  he  ain’t  gwine  to  git  so  lamed  dat 
I shall  hev  to  be  int’duced  to  him!  Does  yer 
tink.  Miss  Leslie,  dey  grows  up,  or  stays  de 
way  dey  was  when  dey  goes  in?” 

“ I don’t  know,”  said  Leslie,  who  tried  in  her 
simple  way  to  be  good,  and  in  so  trying  wrought 
out  a sweet  and  Christlike  religion.  “ I don’t 
know : only  the  hymn  says,  — 

‘ We  shall  know  each  other  there.’ 

I reckon.  Pomp,  it  will  be  just  as  if  we  had  been 
away  from  our  friends  for  a good  while,  and 
when  we  saw  them  again,  they  were  changed, 
and  were  gentler  and  kinder  and  more  beauti- 
ful; and  we  should  see  that  they  were  different, 
and  yet  they ’d  be  the  same.  We ’d  know  them  as 
soon  as  they  spoke,  even  though  it  was  in  a dark 
room,  and  we  did  n’t  know  they  were  there.” 

1 19 


The  Coloners  Opera  Cloak 

Pomp’s  tearful  eyes  glistened  with  pride. 

“ Dar ’s  good  comfort  in  dat,  Miss  Leslie,”  he 
said.  “ ’Pears  like  de  Lord ’s  speakin’  froo  yer. 
’Pears  like  I sees  John  Jasper  now,  all  dressed  up 
an’  lookin’  as  good  as  Massa  Tom;  yit  he’ll  be 
my  boy  an’  yer  boy;  an’  I done  reckon  dat 
chile  won’t  leave  his  eyes  off  dat  gate  a-watchin’ 
fur  yer  an’  fur  me. 

“ De  way  to  Prov’dence  is  pas’  findin’  out. 
Miss  Leslie,”  added  he,  piously  rolling  his  eyes. 
“ Somehow,  I don’t  look  wid  no  respec’,  no  more, 
on  de  Colonel’s  op’ra  cloak.  I feels,  somehow 
or  nudder,  dat  ef  dat  cloak  had  done  his  duty, 
dat  chile  would  be  tumblin’  downstairs  or  suthin’, 
dis  minute  here.  I tole  Jasper,  on  Monday,  not 
to  go  out  widout  puttin’  on  de  op’ra  cloak,  fear 
he ’d  cotch  cole  in  his  chist ; an’  nowhar  could 
he  fin’  it.  ’Pears  sometimes  ’s  ef  dat  cloak  had 
got  legs  on  to  it  dat  we  can’t  see,  an’  jes’  walked 
itself  off  an’  hid  under  tings  an’  behin’  tings. 
I should  n’t  never  hev  foun’  whar  it  was  a-hidin’, 
ef  I hed  n’t  los’  my  shoe,  an’  I was  scoochin’ 
down,  lookin’  under  ev’ry  ting,  an’  dar  was  dat 
op’ra  cloak  a-squeezin’  in  ’tween  de  wall  an’  de 
sofy,  whar  nobody  would  n’t  never  hev  looked 
fur  it. 


120 


The  Coloners  Opera  Cloak 

“ Why,  we  might  hev  gone  away  from  dis 
house,  an’  never  hev  foun’  it.  Miss  Leslie,  an’ 
what  would  de  Colonel  hev  said?  I reckon  I 
knows ! ” 

“ O Pomp,”  said  Leslie,  the  tears  filling  her 
beautiful  eyes,  “don’t  wish  Jasper  back!  He’s 
better  off  than  we  are.” 

“ Yes,”  said  Pomp : “ I reckon  he ’s  better  off ; 
an’  yit  he  was  putty  good  off,  when  he  was  here. 
Ef  yer  count  up  what  folks  calls  massies,  he 
hed  mos’  on  ’em.  He  hed  n’t  no  gran’ma’, 
but  there ’s  a good  many  folks  hain’t.  I hain’t 
got  no  gran’ma’,  — no,  nor  no  gran’ fa’,  nuther; 
but  I don’  tink  much  ’bout  it,  ’cept  when  I 
hears  folks  speakin’  on  ’em.  But  how  ’ll  dis 
be:  — John  Jasper’s  mo’er  died  when  he  was 
a little  baby.  She  won’t  know  him : he  won’t 
know  her,  ’less  his  gran’ma’  tells  him  who  she 
is.  But,  den,”  said  Pomp,  falling  into  confu- 
sion in  his  genealogies,  as  many  others  have 
done,  “ his  gran’ma’  she  never  seen  Jasper  I 
It ’s  me  dat  hed  ought  to  passed  away  fust, 
to  hev  hed  tings  all  straighted  up.  ’Pears  like 
nothin’  don’t  go  straight,  ef  I is  n’t  dar  to  ’tend 
to  it.” 

“ I reckon  things  will  go  right  in  heaven  with- 


I2I 


The  Coloners  Opera  Cloak 

out  you,  Pomp,”  said  Leslie,  with  a faint  smile, 
“ but  I am  sure  they  would  n’t  here  in  this  family. 
I wish  we  were  like  the  Douglases.  Every  thing 
goes  so  smoothly  there,  and  they  are  so  good! 
They  help  poor  people,  and  they  go  to  mission- 
schools.” 

Pomp  looked  very  solemn. 

“ I used  to  be  awful  ’ligious,”  he  said.  “ I 
used  to  go  to  heaps  o’  woods-meetin’s,  an’  I hol- 
lered louder  ’n  any  one  on  ’em.  Why,  Miss 
Leslie,  I was  baptized  in  de  Rappahannick,  in 
jes’  de  spot,  in  de  very  water,  dat  Gen’l  Washin’- 
ton  was  baptized  in,  — no,  ’t  was  n’t  Gen’l  Wash- 
in’ton,  nuther : 't  was  Joyce  Heth.  I done  ’mem- 
ber she  was  Gen’l  Washin’ton’s  nuss!  So  I was 
baptized  on  hysteric  groun’,  yer  see! 

“ Oh,  I got  ’ligion,  in  dem  days,  so  dere  wa’n’t 
no  doin’  nothin’  wid  me;  but,”  Pomp  sighed, 
“ I ain’t  hed  no  time  dese  las’  years  fur  ’ligion. 
I ’se  had  to  see  to  all  o’  yer.” 

“ They  all  ran  away  but  you,”  said  Leslie : 
“ that  was  when  I was  very  little.” 

“ Yes,  dey  got  free,  an’  so  dey  run  off.  Dey 
said  I was  a fool  to  stay  here;  but  I ’membered 
what  I done  promise  to  ole  Missus  when  she 
was  a-dyin’.  Says  she,  ‘ Don’t  yer  never  leave 


122 


The  Colonehs  Opera  Cloak 

Miss  Marie,  ’cause  she ’s  hard  to  git  ’long  wid, 
an’  nobody  can’t  git  ’long  wid  her  ’cept  jes’  yen’ 
An’  den  de  Colonel  he  got  pore,  an’  I wa’n’t 
goin’  to  clar  out  when  my  frien’s  gits  pore. 
Dat ’s  de  time  when  yer  wants  yer  frien’s. 

“ My  brudder  he ’s  in  Phil’delphy.  He ’s  got 
a barber’s  shop,  an’  he  goes  out  ha’r-dressin’,  — 
he  can’t  do  it  no  better  nor  I kin,  — an’  he  makes 
heaps  o’  money.  He  dresses  up  mighty  fine, 
dey  says,  an’  goes  scootin’ 
round  wid  a cane,  an’  one 
o’  dem  high-top  hats,  like 
Massa  Tom’s.  He ’s  putty 
high  in  meetin’s,  too!  He 
passes  de  box,  an’  he  ’s  one 
ob  de  deacons.  I ’$ 
he’ll  be  powerful  high 
in  de  kingdom, 
de  good  Lord 
he  ’ll  ’cuse  me,  I 
’spect;  fur  I can’t 
git  no  time  to  be 
’ligious, — dar ’s  s 
to  do  allers.  I don’t  seem  to  git  froo. 

“When. we  gits  settled  agin,  I must  look  up 
my  ’ligion.  I ain’t  kep’  but  a little  on ’t,  — jes’ 
123 


The  Colonel’s  Opera  Cloak 

to  say  my  pra’ers,  an’  do  my  duty,  an’  love  de 
Lord  an’  ev’rybody,  — dat  is,  ev’rybody  ’cept  — 
'cept  Massa  Cavello;  but,  den,  he  don’t  ’mount 
to  much.” 

“ I think  that  is  pretty  much  the  whole  of 
religion,”  said  Leslie.  “ It  always  comforts  me 
to  know  that  you  pray  for  us.  Pomp ; and  I ’m 
sure  nobody  in  the  world  is  so  unselfish  as  you.” 
“ Oh,  I ain’t  onselfish,”  said  Pomp.  “ I has  n’t 
never  done  tings  fur  folks.  I has  n’t  visited  ’em 
in  prison,  an’  I has  n’t  gin  clo’es  to  nobody,  an’ 
I hain’t  fed  nobody  what  was  hungry,  — ’cept  de 
boys,  of  course : dey ’s  ben  hungry  times  ’nuf, 
an’  I ’se  put  dere  clo’es  on  times  ’nuf,  too. 

“Now  jes’  look  at  dat  kittle!”  cried  Pomp. 
“ I can’t  talk  to  nobody,  but  dat  kittle  gits  so 
res’less  an’  biles  over,  pokin’  up  de  kiver  like  he 
could  n’t  wait  tell  I gits  dar  I ” 

“ Pomp ! ” cried  Clarence,  coming  to  the  stairs. 
“ Hurry  up  there ! I ’m  ’most  starved  to  death. 
Isn’t  supper  ’most  ready?” 

“ Well,”  said  Leslie,  rising,  “ I almost  wish  I 
was  where  Jasper  is.  What ’s  the  use  of  being 
raised,  to  wish,  half  the  time,  you  had  n’t  been 
born?  ” 

Pomp  wiped  his  tears  away. 

124 


The  Colonel’s  Opera  Cloak 

“ Nobody  has  n’t  ben  sayin’  any  ting  to  yer, 
has  he?”  he  asked,  nodding  his  head  in  the 
direction  of  Mr.  Cavello’s  room.  “ I hes  set 
Massa  Tom  off  for  you ! I wishes  de  Colonel 
would  come  back  an’  see  to  dat  nigger,  — for  I 
’spect  he  ain’t  nothin’  else,  — a-passin’  hisself 
off  for  a gent’man.” 

Mr.  Cavello  had  been  missing,  while  little  Jas- 
per lay  dead  in  the  house;  and  he  now  crossed 
himself  as  he  passed  the  parlor  door. 

Leslie  despised  him.  What  a mean,  contempt- 
ible little  soul  he  had!  How  noble  Tom’s  was! 
But,  then,  of  course  there  was  no  one  so  kind, 
so  good,  so  handsome,  so  generous,  so  learned 
as  Tom!  She  could  only  gaze  upon  him  from 
afar : he  could  never  care  any  thing  for  a girl 
like  her. 

She  thrilled  with  pain,  as  she  compared  herself 
with  Miss  Henderson,  about  whom  she  had  heard 
Bessie  tease  him,  and  who  made  her  feel  so  stupid. 
Every  thing  about  Miss  Henderson  spoke  out: 
the  very  ruffles  plumed  themselves,  and  hinted 
at  the  shabby  frills  on  Leslie’s  dress.  Her  eyes 
said,  “ See  how  bright  we  are!  ” and  her  smile, 
“ How  gracious  I am ! ” When  she  played,  her 
white  hands  cried,  ‘‘  Listen ! did  you  ever  hear 

125 


The  Coloners  Opera  Cloak 

such  music?  ” and,  when  she  ceased  playing,  she 
slipped  so  gracefully  into  her  place,  sometimes 
saying,  “ I ’m  glad  you  enjoy  it : it  is  one  of  my 
favorite  sonatas.  How  it  recalls  those  heavenly 
evenings  in  Heidelberg ! ” 

Poor  Leslie ! she  did  nt  know  where  Heidel- 
berg was.  When  she  finished  her  simple  songs, 
her  cheeks  got  red,  and  she  wanted  to  put  her 
face  in  her  hands.  She  wished  she  was  a fine 
young  lady,  like  Miss  Henderson. 

Pomp  had  said  he  had  set  Tom  off  for  her; 
and,  although  she  smiled  when  she  thought  of 
it,  it  comforted  her. 


126 


VII 


The  warm  weather  came  that  year  all  at 
once.  Mrs.  St.  John  bloomed  into  life 
with  the  flowers,  and  left  her  bed  when  they 
arose  from  theirs. 

She  sent  Leslie  for  patterns  of  muslins  and 
tissues ; and  dress-makers  and  seamstresses 
thronged  the  house.  Her  listless  manner  passed 
away,  and  she  fell  enthusiastically  into  the  dis- 
cussion of  flounces,  frills,  side-plaiting,  and  box- 
plaiting. 

The  Colonel  had  sent  home  more  money  lately, 
and  they  had  been  able  to  have  new  clothes  and 
a better  table,  and  had  paid  fewer  bills.  Mrs. 
St.  John  sent  the  Doctor  an  elegant  dressing- 
gown,  — he  had  two  already,  — and  to  Mrs. 
Douglas  fresh  flowers  every  day,  but  took  no 
more  notice  of  the  Doctor’s  bill  than  if  it  had 


127 


The  Coloners  Opera  Cloak 

never  been  sent.  One  May  morning  the  sun 
poured  down  as  hot  as  in  July;  and,  cheerful  and 
amiable  and  handsome,  Mrs.  St.  John  announced 
that  she  was  going  out  of  town  with  Pomp,  to 
engage  summer  board.  She  had  heard  of  a place 
in  the  country  which  was  just  the  thing. 

The  proprietor  of  the  hotel  was  quite  struck 
by  the  appearance  of  this  elegant  Southern  lady, 
attended  by  a colored  servant;  and  he  exerted 
himself  to  please  her. 

She  must  have  all  large  rooms,  and  they  must 
all  be  on  the  front,  and  they  must  open  into  each 
other.  Two  large  rooms  on  the  front  were  al- 
ready engaged;  but  she  said  the  people  must 
take  some  other  rooms ; they  could  n’t  expect,  if 
they  only  took  two,  to  have  a choice  situation; 
she  wanted  five  large  rooms.  The  polite  land- 
lord said  he  would  see  the  “ other  party,”  and 
try  to  arrange  the  matter.  Mrs.  St.  John  in- 
quired particularly  about  the  table,  and  looked 
critically  over  the  bill  of  fare. 

She  did  not  demur  at  the  high  price,  but  left 
her  decision  hanging  on  the  withdrawal  of  the 
“ other  persons.” 

After  three  days,  during  which  time  the  land- 
lord had  interviewed  the  “ party,”  he  wrote  to 
128 


The  Colonels  Opera  Cloak 

her  that  he  had  lost  the  people  who  had  the 
front  rooms,  but  considered  it  best  to  let  them 
go,  as  her  family  was  so  large,  and  wanted  so 
many  apartments. 

Mrs.  St.  John  dropped  the  letter  behind  her 
bed,  after  reading  it.  “That  horrid  Yankee!” 
she  said.  “ As  if  1 did  n’t  know  where  I wanted 
to  go ! ” And  she  decided  now  to  go  to  the 
sea-shore. 

After  a few  days,  the  man  wrote  again,  and 
then  again;  and,  receiving  no  answer,  he  went 
humbly  to  the  “ other  party,”  and  coaxed  him 
back  at  a reduced  price. 

Mrs.  St.  John  and  Pomp  took  a trip  to  the 
sea-shore.  The  hotel  was  a very  fine  one,  built 
on  rocks  directly  overlooking  the  sea. 

The  rooms  were  nearly  all  engaged;  but  she 
made  the  landlord  turn  people  in  and  out,  and 
finally  arranged  to  go  on  the  first  of  July,  with 
all  her  family,  for  the  summer. 

She  wrote  to  the  Colonel  that  she  was  going 
there  to  get  Leslie  off ; that  his  horrid  friend  was 
making  love  to  her  all  the  time,  and  would  n’t 
look  at  Leslie ; and  that  the  Doctor’s  son  did  not 
commit  himself,  although  she  had  given  him 
chances  every  day  in  the  week  and  Sundays 
9 129 


The  Colonel’s  Opera  Cloak 

beside;  for  she  made  Leslie  go  to  church,  and 
had  taken  a seat  for  her  right  in  front  of  the 
Douglases;  and  she  had  tried  to  induce  her  to 
take  a class  in  the  mission-school  where  Tom 
taught ; but  Leslie  was  so  stubborn,  and  said  she 
did  n’t  know  enough  to  teach,  — as  if  that  made 
any  difference!  Now  she  should  give  her  a last 
chance. 

The  amiable  Colonel,  who  was  sojourning  in 
St.  Louis,  talking  of  claims  and  institutions, 
and  the  poor,  homeless,  wandering,  unhappy 
millions  of  the  colored  race,  and  of  the  blue 
blood  and  untrammelled  spirits  of  the  chivalry, 

— but  who  had  smiles  for  Northern  land-pur- 
chasers, and  good-humoredly  ate  their  dinners, 

— replied  that  her  idea  was  a good  one,  but  not 
to  let  the  little  girl  marry  any  fellow  who  would 
be  unkind  to  her. 

The  first  of  July  came,  and  the  family  set 
off  for  the  Elden  House,  in  high  spirits.  Mr. 
Cavello  had  gone  to  a neighboring  city  to  dine 
with  a friend ; and  Mrs.  St.  John  had  neglected 
to  tell  him  what  day  she  was  going;  or,  rather, 
she  decided  to  go  while  he  was  away. 

The  boys  were  all  in  new  suits;  Leslie  wore 
a dark  blue  flannel  dress  and  a sailor  hat;  and 
130 


The  ColoneFs  Opera  Cloak 

Pomp  was  arrayed  in  some  “ clo’es  he  foun^ 
roun’  de  house.”  And  the  carriage  came,  the 
mansion  was  closed,  and  away  they  went. 

Mr.  Cavello,  returning  at  dusk,  was  dismayed 
at  the  deserted  air  of  the  house,  where  the  win- 
dows had  always  blazed  with  light.  He  rang 
the  bell : the  handle  came  off,  — it  came  off  so 
easily ! — and  then  he  pounded,  and  then  he 
kicked.  He  went  to  the  basement  door;  but  for 
once  the  curtains  were  down  and  silence  reigned. 
A servant  near  by,  seeing  his  despair,  told  him 
that  the  family  all  went  off  at  noon,  and  that 
the  black  man  said  they  would  n’t  be  back  for  a 
good  many  weeks. 

Mr.  Cavello  was  in  a rage.  He  struck  his 
thin  wisp  of  a cane  on  the  sidewalk,  until  it 
broke.  He  raved  in  his  native  tongue,  and, 
judging  from  his  manner,  his  language  was 
strong  and  pointed. 

But  he  had  to  go  away  unsatisfied.  He  could 
find  no  “ open  sesame.” 

The  first  week  of  the  St.  Johns’  stay  at  the 
Elden  House  had  passed,  when  Mrs.  St.  John 
wrote  to  Bessie  and  Tom,  inviting  them  to  visit 
her. 

Bessie  did  not  care  to  go:  she  said  that  she 


The  Colonel’s  Opera  Cloak 

was  afraid  of  the  opera  cloak.  Mrs.  Douglas 
remarked  that  she  thought  Tom  would  be  a 
brave  young  man  to  visit  the  St.  Johns,  and 
make  himself  responsible,  as  it  were,  for  them. 
Tom  declared  that  he  was  brave,  and  that  life 
had  been  dull  since  the  opera  cloak  left  town; 
and  he  thought  he  would  run  down  Thursday 
night,  and  see  how  it  was  getting  on. 

When  the  coach  drove  up  to  the  hotel  piazza 
that  Thursday,  it  was  about  six  o’clock.  Ladies 
who  had  gentlemen  were  promenading  the  piazza, 
and  ladies  who  expected  them  were  standing 
about  the  door  waiting. 

When  Tom  jumped  out,  he  noticed  at  once 
a pretty  girl.  It  was  Leslie,  but  so  changed! 
She  had  been  driving,  and  wore  her  blue  flannel 
dress  and  sailor  hat.  The  hat  was  pushed  back, 
sailor-fashion,  on  her  head,  and  her  hair  was 
ruffled  by  the  wind.  She  had  wild  flowers  in 
her  hand.  She  came  up,  smiling  and  blushing. 

“ I am  so  sorry  I was  late ! I went  to  drive 
with  Mr.  Merrill,  and  have  only  just  returned. 
I wanted  to  dress  before  you  came.” 

Tom  took  one  instant  to  hate  Mr.  Merrill,  and 
then  he  wondered  what  celestial  raiment,  what 
purple  and  fine  linen,  could  be  found  to  make 

132 


The  Colonel’s  Opera  Cloak 

this  beautiful  being  more  beautiful.  He  could 
not  believe  that  this  was  the  Leslie  who  had 
worn  her  aunt’s  clothes  and  Clarence’s  boots,  — 
she  was  so  charming,  so  stylish!  Well,  if  Tom 
had  come  down  with  even  the  little  pointed  end 
of  his  heart  untouched,  or  one  of  the  scallops 
at  the  top,  it  must  have  given  way  now! 

Mrs.  St.  John  came  to  meet  him  with  great 
cordiality;  and  Arthur  and  Wilfrid  and  Clarence 
said  it  was  “ high  old  jolly  ” to  see  him  again, 
and,  when  they  heard  of  Mr.  Cavello’s  attempt 
to  get  into  the  house,  they  fairly  jumped  up  and 
down  in  delight. 

Mrs.  St.  John  was  so  handsome,  and  her 
clothes  were  so  elegant,  and  her  niece  was  so 
lovely,  that  the  family  were  very  popular  at  the 
hotel;  and  Tom  saw,  with  pride  and  fear,  that 
Leslie  was  the  most  attractive  girl  in  the  house. 

There  was  to  be  a hop  that  evening,  and  Tom 
was  to  come  to  Mrs.  St.  John’s  door  at  eight 
o’clock,  to  take  her  and  Leslie  downstairs.  But 
an  old  beau,  of  the  kind  which  belongs  to  every 
summer  hotel,  with  gray  hair  and  pink  cheeks, 
MacVickar  by  name,  came,  with  all  his  soul 
in  his  eyes,  — his  eyes  were  small,  but  he  put 
all  his  soul  into  them,  — to  beg  the  honor  of 

133 


The  Colonel’s  Opera  Cloak 

taking  Mrs.  St.  John  down;  and  so  Leslie  was 
left  for  Tom. 

Leslie  had  never  seen  any  thing,  and  had  never 
been  anywhere,  except  for  a short  time  to  a third- 
rate  boarding-school;  and  she  thought  that  now 
she  was  in  Paradise.  She  did  not  have  to  pin 
her  dress-waists  over;  her  boots  fitted  her;  and 
everybody  was  so  lovely  and  kind  and  beautiful! 

Mrs.  St.  John  had  let  slip  a word  about  the 
great  responsibility  of  having  a young  heiress 
and  a beauty  on  her  hands : fortune-hunters  were 
so  plenty,  and  artists  and  other  fellows  without 
money  took  so  kindly  to  a rich  and  handsome 
girl,  that  her  aunt  must  of  necessity  lead  a life 
of  watchfulness,  and  sleep  with  one  eye  open. 

All  this  summer,  life  was  of  rose-color  for 
Leslie.  She  walked,  she  drove,  she  kissed  all 
the  babies,  she  told  stories  to  the  children,  who 
pursued  her  all  over  the  house.  She  was  engaged 
days  in  advance  for  croquet ; and  the  light-haired, 
weak  little  son  of  the  rich  ^Ir.  Tileson  begged 
for  a game  a week  ahead,  and  asked  her,  from 
the  top  of  the  stage,  to  wear  his  colors  — a 
magenta  ribbon  — in  her  button-hole  until  he 
returned.  The  handsome  cadet  from  West  Point 
wrecked  his  best  suit  by  cutting  gilt  buttons  from 
134 


The  Colonel’s  Opera  Cloak 

it  to  string  upon  little  Tileson’s  red  ribbon;  and 
Mr.  Bennett,  who  had  been  crossed  in  love  by 
the  young  lady  who  sat  on  the  rocks  all  day  and 
sketched  “ the  sea,  the  lone,  dark  sea,’'  asked 
Leslie  to  let  him  carry  her  fan,  to  make  the 
mermaid  jealous;  and  Leslie  was  sorry  for  him, 
and  made  the  young  lady  very  jealous.  The 
old  gentlemen  admired  Leslie:  she  opened  their 
papers  for  them;  and  for  the  gouty  old  fellow 
who  sat  next  her  at  the  table  she  saved  the  choice 
bits  of  lobster,  and  made  believe  she  liked  legs 
best.  When  Mrs.  Morris  begged  the  little  Ste- 
venses not  to  drag  their  tin  carts  up  and  down 
the  piazza  under  her  windows,  Leslie  promised 
them  a splendid  story  “ that  long,”  if  they ’d 
stay  on  the  lawn.  She  seemed  instinctively  to 
know  how  to  get  into  people’s  hearts. 

Old  Mr.  Morris  used  to  laugh  at  the  shells 
and  buttons  she  wore  on  her  ribbon,  and  called 
it  her  scalp-string. 

Would  eight  o’clock  never  come?  Some 
people  think  hours  measure  alike.  It  is  not 
so:  happy  hours  are  cut  short,  that  weary  ones 
may  be  lengthened. 

Leslie  had  been  ready  for  an  hour.  Pomp 
was  on  his  knees  before  Mrs.  St.  John,  lacing 

135 


The  Colonel’s  Opera  Cloak 

her  boots.  She  asked  Leslie  to  peep  out,  and 
see  if  Mr.  MacVickar  was  waiting,  and  to  go 
out  if  he  was.  Leslie  said  no,  but  that  Mr. 
Tom  was  there.  “ Then  go  and  walk  with  him,” 
said  Mrs.  St.  John. 

Leslie  wore  a white  dotted  muslin,  made  in 
the  simplest  way.  It  was  high  in  the  neck,  with 
a little  ruche,  and  had  elbow-sleeves  with  ruffles, 
and  a long,  plain  skirt,  ruffled  around  the  bot- 
tom. Mrs.  St.  John  had  put  on  the  finishing 
touch  by  adding  a scarlet  crape  sash,  and  put- 
ting a bit  of  geranium  in  her  hair.  She  wore 
white  slippers  and  long  gloves;  and  a fan  of 
white  feathers  was  tied  to  her  waist  by  a scarlet 
ribbon. 

Tom  caught  his  breath,  when  this  vision  of 
loveliness  appeared  before  him. 

“Don’t  I look  right  smart?”  said  Leslie. 
“Isn’t  this  dress  pretty?” 

“ Why,  I never  saw  any  thing  like  it  in  my 
life ! ” said  the  young  fellow,  forgetting  Gertrude 
Henderson’s  French  dresses,  which  he  had  once 
admired  so  much. 

“ I don’t  know  as  you  ’ll  go  down  with 
me.  Miss  Leslie.  I have  n't  a dress  suit  here. 
You  didn’t  tell  me  there  was  to  be  a hop; 

136 


The  Coloners  Opera  Cloak 

and  I ’m  no  dancing  man,  any  way,”  added 
Tom. 

“ I don’t  know  how  to  dance,  either,”  said 
Leslie,  taking  his  offered  arm,  while  they  slowly 
promenaded  through  the  long  hall.  “ I know 
the  ‘ Lancers,’  and  pieces  of  other  dances ; but 
I reckon  I can  get  through.  Can’t  you  dance 
at  all  ? ” 

“ I can  dance  the  ‘ Lancers  ’ or  a cotillion,” 
said  Tom,  “ if  I am  with  somebody  who  is 
good  to  me,  and  tells  me  in  time  when  I am 
to  make  a courtesy,  and  the  dame  to  make  a 
bow.” 

“ Oh,  I know  enough  to  tell  that,”  said  Leslie, 
‘‘  so  you ’d  better  dance  with  me.  Hark ! they 
are  tuning  their  music.  Let ’s  walk  on  the 
piazza.” 

The  night  was  soft  and  clear;  all  the  little 
stars  had  come  out ; the  great,  dark  sea  stretched 
far  away;  and  the  light-house  lantern  flashed 
and  disappeared,  as  Leslie  and  Tom,  arm-in-arm, 
watched  it  from  the  piazza,  where  they  stood 
alone. 

Old  Cannon  Rock  was  booming,  as  the  incom- 
ing tide  rushed  into  its  sounding  caverns.  A 
row-boat  was  moving  through  the  water:  they 

137 


The  Coloners  Opera  Cloak 

could  hear  soft  voices,  and  see  the  water  fall  in 
golden  rain  from  the  oars. 

“ I wonder,”  said  Leslie,  leaning  her  head 
against  a pillar,  “ if  everybody  is  not  perfectly, 
perfectly  happy,  sometimes.” 

“ I hope  so,  with  all  my  heart,”  said  Tom, 
wondering  whether  his  day  was  coming. 

“ Because,”  continued  Leslie,  “ I think  people 
could  bear  to  be  hungry,  and  cold,  and  not  have 
people  care  any  thing  for  them,  and  have  things 
go  wrong  all  the  time,  — if  they  were  only  per- 
fectly happy  once.  If  it  was  when  they  were 
young,  they  could  say  in  the  horrid  days,  ‘ I ’ve 
been  happy  once,  and  it  was  good  enough  to  pay 
for  these  times ; ’ or,  if  all  their  lives  had  been 
very  hard  and  uncomfortable,  they  could  say, 
when  the  perfectly  happy  days  came,  ‘ This  pays 
for  it  all.’  Do  you  believe  it  is  so?” 

“I  don’t  know,”  said  Tom.  ‘‘It  seems  as  if 
some  people  never  had  their  day.  Have  you 
ever  been  perfectly  happy?” 

“ Yes,”  said  Leslie,  hesitatingly : “ I am  al- 
most perfectly  happy  to-night.” 

“ What  makes  you  happy  ? Because  you  are 
going  to  a dance,  and  there  ’s  to  be  some  fellow 
there  that  you  want  to  see?” 

138 


The  Colonel’s  Opera  Cloak 

‘‘I’d  like  to  murder  him!”  added  Tom,  to 
himself. 

Leslie  did  n’t  say  a word : she  only  looked  out 
to  sea. 

“ I beg  your  pardon,”  said  Tom,  coldly.  “ I 
had  no  business  to  ask  that.” 

“Oh,  yes,  you  had,”  said  Leslie’s  soft  voice; 
“ and,  if  you  had  n’t,  no  matter.  I never  mind, 
if  people  are  only  kind  to  me,  what  they  say; 
and  you  have  been  kinder  to  me  than  almost 
anybody.” 

“ What  good  fortune  for  me,  that  the  Colonel’s 
business  detained  him  over  to-night!”  said  Mr. 
MacVickar’s  thin  voice  to  Mrs.  St.  John,  as  they 
came  upon  the  two  young  people  standing  in 
the  moonlight.  “Old  fool!”  said  Tom,  in  a 
low  tone. 

“ ‘ Or  when  the  moon  was  overhead, 

Came  two  young  lovers  lately  wed,’  ” 

Mr.  MacVickar  added,  waving  his  hand  grace- 
fully. Ha!  ha!  Not  exactly  appropriate,  but 
we  hope  it  will  be!  And  what  will  the  other 
adorers  say  to  this.  Miss  Leslie,  — Mr.  Merrill, 
and  Mr.  Tileson,  and  the  host  who  bend  the 
knee?  ” 


139 


The  Colonel’s  Opera  Cloak 

Tom  could  gladly  have  flung  Mr.  MacVickar 
into  the  sea.  The  two  passed  on. 

“Well,”  said  Tom,  trying  to  re-establish  the 
conversation,  and  wanting  to  hear  Leslie  repeat 
her  words.  “ I was  never  kind  to  you.  I only 
wish  I could  be.  If  there  was  any  thing  I could 
do  to  make  you  not  almost,  but  perfectly  ” — 

They  both  started.  A man  hung  suspended 
in  the  air  before  them.  Leslie  caught  Tom’s 
hand  in  terror.  He  threw  his  arm  about  her; 
when  a wicked  giggle  sounded  from  the  piazza 
roof,  and  the  man  began  to  dance  about,  flapping 
his  legs  in  the  air. 

“ Say,  Leslie,  we ’ve  heard  all  you  said,  — te, 
he,  he,  he,  he ! and  all  your  beau  said ! ” 

The  man  flopped  about.  He  was  a pair  of 
pantaloons,  a pillow,  a hat,  and  the  Colonel’s 
opera  cloak;  and  he  was  suspended  by  the  neck 
by  a cord,  and  jiggled  according  to  the  fancy  of 
his  creators. 

Leslie  was  ready  to  cry.  Tom  caught  the 
hanging  man,  and  nearly  jerked  the  young,  un- 
trammelled spirits  of  the  chivalry  into  early 
graves ! They  held  on  to  the  little  railing  above, 
and  howled. 

“You  shut  up,  there!  You  can’t  get  Leslie! 

140 


The  Coloners  Opera  Cloak 

She ’s  going  to  marry  Mr.  Merrill,  — so,  there ! 
Ain’t  you  sweet  on  Leslie,  — taking  her  to  ride  and 
dumping  her  in  a mud-puddle?  — te,  he,  te,  he ! ” 

The  band  struck  up.  The  dancers  took  their 
places.  Leslie  beat  time  to  the  music  with  her 
foot. 

“ Let  us  go  in  and  look  on,  it  is  so  bright 
and  merry,”  said  she,  ashamed  and  frightened. 
‘‘  You  won’t  mind  what  the  boys  said,  will  you? 
I am  so  sorry!  They  say  any  thing  when  they 
are  teasing  me.” 

“ I don’t  mind  any  thing  they  say : it ’s  only 
what  you  say  that  I mind,”  replied  Tom. 

“ Come,”  said  the  young  girl,  hurrying  him  on. 

I do  wish  the  boys  would  n’t  tease  me  so.” 

As  they  stepped  into  the  light,  Tom  saw  tears 
on  her  long  lashes ; and  his  manner  softened. 

‘‘  Never  mind,”  said  he : “ we  don’t  care  what 
they  say.” 

His  tone  comforted  her,  and  she  went  happily 
into  the  hall  on  his  arm. 

Mrs.  St.  John  was  quite  in  her  element.  Mr. 
MacVickar  leaned  over  her  chair  and  fanned 
her.  Mr.  Norton,  who  had  only  arrived  that 
night,  had  begged  to  be  introduced ; and  he 
now  had  the  honor  of  holding  her  bouquet.  Mr. 

141 


The  Colonel’s  Opera  Cloak 

Gray  asked  why  she  had  been  so  selfish  as  to 
find  occupation  for  only  two  admirers.  Had  n’t 
she  another  fan,  or  could  n't  the  bouquet  be 
divided?  Mrs.  St.  John  said  she  would  allow 
him  to  button  her  glove ; and  his 
face  glowed  with  joy  at  her 
condescension. 

Tom  made  so  many  mistakes  in 
the  “ Lancers  ” that  Leslie  could 
not  keep  him  in  order.  She 
tried  to  dance  a cotillion  with 
k the  “ defender  of  his  country,” 
m as  Mr.  MacVickar  styled  the 
1 handsome  little  innocent  from 
T West  Point;  but  she  laughed 
so  often  at  her  own  mistakes, 
that  her  partner  became  a little  vexed,  and  thought 
that  she  was  laughing  at  him.  What  in  creation 
had  her  family  been  thinking  of,  not  to  teach  her 
to  dance!  He  shuddered  at  the  thought  of  such 
ignorance  in  a civilized  and  Christian  country, 
and  wished  he  had  his  shiny  buttons  back. 

Mrs.  Morris,  who  peeped  in  through  the  win- 
dows from  the  piazza,  wondered  how  it  hap- 
pened that  the  people  all  looked  like  the  very 
ones  she  had  seen,  season  after  season,  at  hotel 
142 


The  Colonel’s  Opera  Cloak 

hops.  There  were  the  weary  old  ladies,  who 
hid  their  yawns  behind  their  fans,  and  who  only 
served  as  stations  to  run  the  young  ladies  back 
to.  They  looked  so  much  alike,  that  Miss  Annie 
or  Miss  Fannie  had  to  say,  as  her  escort  con- 
fidently took  her  to  the  wrong  old  lady,  “ Oh, 
no,  this  one  is  not  my  mamma ! ” 

The  music  was  fine ; and,  as  Tom  and  Leslie 
had  come  to  grief  in  their  dancing,  they  went 
again  to  the  piazza,  passing  on  their  way  Mr. 
MacVickar,  who  said,  — 

“ What ! going  to  add  two  other  stars  to 
night?  ” 

“ A hop  is  n’t  as  nice  as  I thought  it  would 
be,”  said  Leslie,  wrapped  up  in  somebody’s  shawl, 
which  Tom  had  pilfered  on  his  way  out.  “ If  it 
really  meant  its  name,  I ’d  like  it.  I like  to  laugh 
when  I dance,  and  to  feel  that  I am  having  a 
good  time.  All  those  people  looked  so  solemn, 
and  as  if  they  were  to  blame.  It  made  me  laugh 
to  see  them.” 

“ There  is  only  one  thing  that  is  nice  about  a 
hop,  to  me,”  said  Tom;  “ and  that  is  to  walk  on 
the  piazza  in  the  moonlight,  with  the  music  and 
the  sound  of  the  sea  in  my  ears,  and  a pretty 
girl  who  ” — 


143 


The  Colonel’s  Opera  Cloak 

‘‘  How  do  you  do,  Miss  Leslie ! ” said  Mrs. 
Morris  from  the  shadow.  “ Are  you  enjoy- 
ing the  hop?  I must  thank  you  for  rescuing 
me  to-day  from  those  little  Stevenses.  When 
I have  a headache,  their  shrill  voices  scalp 
me.  And  those  tin  carts!  They  are  instructed 
to  trundle  them  under  my  window,  I ’m  con- 
vinced. Why  do  they  never  play  under  their 
mother’s?  ” 

Leslie  laughed,  and  introduced  Tom  to  the 
lady;  and  then  Mr.  Tileson  came,  pale  and 
timid,  to  remind  Miss  Leslie  that  she  had 
promised  to  promenade  with  him,  as  she  did  n’t 
waltz. 

Tom  wanted  to  slap  the  little  fellow  between 
his’'  hands,  like  a mosquito.  It  did  n’t  seem  like 
murder  to  kill  any  thing  so  thin. 

The  supper  hall  was  bright  with  flags.  To 
Leslie’s  fresh  eyes,  it  was  like  a scene  in  the 
“ Arabian  Nights.”  With  her,  it  was  the  Thou- 
sand and  One  Nights  all  in  one;  for  Tom  had 
walked  boldly  up  to  little  Mr.  Tileson,  and  of- 
fered Leslie  his  arm  as  if  she  belonged  to  him, 
and  Leslie  had  taken  it  as  if  she  did.  Mr.  Tile- 
son had  let  her  go,  smiling  feebly,  and  then 
wondered  why  he  had  let  her  go. 

144 


The  Colonel’s  Opera  Cloak 

Tom  was  splendid.  He  found  just  the  things 
Leslie  liked,  and  sent  a waiter  with  them  to 
the  piazza,  where  they  had  “ another  little  tea- 
party.”  Leslie  said  this  was  “ j^^st  for  twice;” 
and  what  a queer,  lovely,  funny,  dreadful  time 
that  other  tea-party  in  the  country  was!  and 
now,  with  her  pretty  clothes,  she  felt  like  a 
girl  in  a story,  and  he  was  like  a gentleman  in 
a story. 

“The  hero  and  heroine?”  asked  Tom. 

Leslie  laughed,  and  said,  “ No : there  is  an 
elegant  young  lady  whose  initials  are  ‘ G.  H.,’ 
who  is  the  heroine.” 

“ And  a man,  called  Tileson,  is  the  hero  for 
the  other  lady,  perhaps,”  said  Tom. 

Leslie  said  that  if  he  were  to  belong  to  her, 
she  would  put  a dress  and  bonnet  on  him,  and 
call  him  Miss  Tileson. 

“ I ’m  tired,  Leslie,”  said  little  Clarence,  run- 
ning up  to  her,  and  laying  his  head  on  her 
shoulder.  “Won’t  you  take  me  to  bed?  I’m 
afraid,  in  this  big  house,  and  I can’t  keep  awake 
any  longer.” 

“ Where  is  Pomp?  ” asked  Tom.  “ He  ’ll  put 
you  to  bed.” 

“ I want  Leslie,”  said  Clarence,  defiantly. 

10  145 


The  Coloners  Opera  Cloak 

Leslie  arose. 

“ I ’ll  put  him  to  bed,  and  then  come  back,” 
she  said.  But  it  was  a long  time  before  she 
came,  for  Clarence  wanted  a song  and  a story; 
and  then  it  was  time  for  Mrs.  St.  John  to  be 
tired,  and  so  Leslie  had  to  go  with  her,  of 
course. 

“ Don’t  sing  any  of  your  songs  to  these  fel- 
lows here,”  said  Tom,  in  a low  tone,  as  he  bade 
her  good-night,  nodding  over  his  shoulder  into 
the  ball-room.  “ Save  them  for  another  ‘ just 
for  this  time,’  won’t  you?  ” 

‘‘  Yes,”  said  Leslie.  And  then  she  gave 
him  her  little  hand,  and  said,  “Good-night;” 
and  Tom  saw  her  white  dress  sweep  up  the 
stairs. 

He  decided  that  he  was  tired  enough  to  go  in 
now. 

It  is  surprising  how  the  music  clashes,  how 
the  lights  grow  dim  and  the  people  stupid,  the 
minute  “ the  only  girl  in  the  world  ” is  taken 
away  by  her  hard-hearted  chaperone. 

But  there  was  a morning  coming. 


146 


The  next  morning  Mrs.  St.  John  told  Pomp 
to  keep  the  boys  away  from  Leslie  and 
Tom;  but  the  poor  old  fellow  had  his  hands 
more  than  full  to  obey  her  orders. 

Wilfrid  and  Clarence  viewed  Tom  with  that 
intense  admiration  which  boys  so  often  feel  for 
a “ grown-up  fellow ; ” and  Arthur  looked  on 
him  tenderly  as  Bessie’s  brother,  and  amused 
Mr.  Morris  by  saying  that  he  knew  how  Tom 
felt,  — he  had  been  there  himself. 

Leslie  and  Tom  sat  on  the  breezy  side  of  the 
broad  piazza,  away  from  the  group  of  ladies  who 
had  their  fancy-work  out  and  were  listening  to 
Mrs.  Stevens  as  she  read  aloud. 

“ I am  afraid  I am  very  lazy,”  said  Leslie, 
looking  at  her  idle  hands ; “ but  I don’t  seem 
to  care  for  fancy-work,  and  I have  no  real  work 
to  do.  Pomp  does  the  mending.” 

147 


The  Colonel’s  Opera  Cloak 

“ There ’s  a great  deal  of  nonsense  about 
fancy-work/’  said  Tom.  “ I think  it  is  far 
more  sensible  to  sit  still  and  do  nothing,  than  to 
play  at  work  in  that  way.  Gertrude  Henderson 
bears  off  the  palm  for  that  sort  of  thing.  I ’m 
glad  Bessie  never  took  to  it.  You  are  the  kind 
of  girl  that  would  take  hold  of  real  work,  and 
do  it  well,  if  you  needed  to.  Any  thing  you  were 
interested  in,  and  thought  you  ought  to  do, 
you  would  do.” 

“Would  I?”  said  Leslie,  very  much  pleased 
with  Tom’s  discovery.  “Oh,  I’d  rather  have  you 
say  that  than  any  thing!  I’d  like  to  be  just 
like  Bessie.  She  makes  such  lovely  cake  and 
jelly;  and  she  trims  her  own  bonnets;  and  then 
she  can  play  on  the  piano  and  speak  French, 
besides.  The  only  thing  I can  do  is  hoe-cake,” 
she  added.  “ I ’ve  seen  Pomp  make  that  times 
enough  to  know  how.  But  I can  only  play  on 
the  ” — She  stopped  and  blushed. 

“On  what?”  asked  Tom,  smiling.  “On  a 
jewsharp,  or  an  accordion?  Out  with  it,  Miss 
Leslie.” 

“ On  something  worse,”  she  replied.  “ But  I 
don’t  want  to  let  you  know : you  ’ll  think  it  so 
unlady-like.” 


148 


The  Colonel’s  Opera  Cloak 

You  could  n’t  do  any  thing  unlady-like, ” 
said  Tom,  looking  into  her  eyes. 

“ Well,  then,”  said  Leslie,  “ I sing  negro 
songs  with  the  banjo.” 

Tom  burst  out  laughing. 

“Is  that  all?”  he  asked.  “You  must  bring 
your  banjo  out,  when  we  go  back  to  town,  and 
sing  for  me.  Why,  I ’d  rather  have  my  — I ’d 
rather  hear  you  sing  with  a banjo  than  any  thing 
I can  think  of  in  the  way  of  music.” 

“ Oh,  would  you?  ” said  Leslie,  much  relieved. 
“ I thought  you  would  think  it  was  dreadful.  I 
will  sing  for  you  as  much  as  you  like.  I know 
heaps  of  songs.” 

Clarence  appeared  at  this  moment,  dragging  a 
chair  after  him,  and  stationed  himself  in  front 
of  them,  saying  nothing,  but  gazing  earnestly 
into  their  faces.  He  fairly  stretched  his  eyes 
open  so  as  not  to  wink,  for  fear  of  losing 
something. 

From  a conversation  he  had  heard  between  his 
mother  and  Pomp,  he  had  gathered  that  some- 
thing remarkable  was  to  happen  that  morning, 
and  he  meant  to  be  “ in  at  the  death.” 

Just  now  Pomp  peeped  round  the  corner  of 
the  piazza. 


149 


The  Coloners  Opera  Cloak 

“ Massa  Clar'nce/'  he  called,  in  a loud  whis- 
per, “ I wants  to  speak  to  yer.” 

“ You  don't  neither,’’  said  Clarence.  “ You 
want  to  get  me  in,  and  I shan't  go.” 

“ I ’se  got  some  cake  fur  }^er.” 

“I  don't  want  your  old  cake!  You  needn’t 
roll  your  old  eyes  round  at  me!  I ain’t  doing 
any  thing,  am  I,  Leslie?  You  think  Leslie  don’t 
want  me  to  hear  her  talk  jivith  Mr.  Douglas. 
They  ain’t  talking  about  any  thing  but  music, 
are  you,  Leslie?” 

Poor  Leslie!  She  did  not  know  what  to  say. 

“ Clarence,  come  here.  I want  to  speak  to 
you,”  called  his  mother. 

‘‘  I ain't  doing  any  thing  to  them,”  he  replied, 
in  a fretful  voice. 

The  ladies  at  the  other  end  of  the  piazza  ex- 
changed glances,  and  smiled. 

“ Clarence,  come  to  me  this  moment ! ” Mrs. 
St.  John's  voice  was  getting  a little  shrill. 

Clarence  rose,  dragging  his  feet  heavily  after 
him,  and  pouting. 

“ I can't  hear  a word  they  say,  — not  a single 
word,”  he  whimpered.  “ He  did  n’t  come  down 
just  to  see  Leslie,  I'll  bet:  did  you,  Mr. 

Douglas?  ” 

150 


The  Coloners  Opera  Cloak 

“No,  I came  to  see  you,”  said  Tom; 
“ and,  if  you  had  stayed  on  that  chair  a little 
longer,  I should  have  been  able  to  see  a good 
deal  of  you.  Come  here,  I want  to  speak  to 
you.” 

Tom’s  whispered  communication  had  the  de- 
sired effect,  for  Clarence  soon  disappeared  in  the 
bowling-alley. 

The  little  boy  whom  he  paid,  with  unusual 
liberality,  for  setting  up  the  pins,  asked  him  if 
that  “ city  swell  ” was  his  uncle. 

Clarence  said  no,  but  he  guessed  he  would  be, 
pretty  soon,  when  he  married  Leslie. 

“ He  ’ll  be  your  cousin,  then,”  said  the  boy. 

“ He  won’t  either,”  replied  Clarence : “ he ’s 
too  old  to  be  my  cousin,  I tell  you.  Leslie  ’s  my 
cousin.” 

Soon  Tom  and  Leslie  set  out  for  a walk. 

“ Mr.  Douglas!  ” Clarence  called  out.  “ What 
kind  of  a walk  are  you  going  on,  — a long  one 
or  a short  one?” 

“ Oh,  a very  long  one,”  said  Tom,  in  a tone 
of  discouragement. 

“ Then  I ’ll  go  with  you,”  said  Clarence,  cheer- 
fully. “ That ’s  just  the  kind  of  a walk  I want 
to  take.” 


The  Colonel’s  Opera  Cloak 

“ Hallo!  Massa  Clar’nce,”  cried  Pomp.  Yer 
ma  says  how  she  wants  yer.  She  ’s  got  suthin’ 
fur  yer.” 

Clarence  was  becoming  wrathful  under  this 
constant  surveillance,  to  which  he  was  not  accus- 
tomed. He  aimed  a stone  at  Pomp,  who  beat 
a hasty  retreat. 

At  this  moment,  Wilfrid,  who  was  driving 
with  a stable-boy,  saw  the  party,  jumped  out  of 
the  carriage,  and  joined  them. 

“Clarence,  come  along!”  he  whispered.  “I 
want  to  tell  you  something.  Say,  we  ’ll  make 
fun  of  them.” 

Tom  had  put  Leslie’s  hand  through  his  arm, 
and  now  Wilfrid  offered  his  arm  to  Clarence. 
He  leaned  toward  him,  he  whispered  to  him,  and 
finally  Tom  and  Leslie  were  startled  by  a series 
of  loud  kisses  behind  them. 

They  turned  in  time  to  see  the  little  rascals 
“ taking  them  off.” 

Tom  was  angry,  but  he  could  n’t  help  laugh- 
ing. Wilfrid  was  looking  very  stern,  and  Clar- 
ence was  mincing  his  steps,  “ lady-fashion,”  and 
had  his  mouth  pursed  up : “ like  Leslie’s,”  he 
said. 

Poor  Leslie  was  almost  crying. 

152 


The  Coloners  Opera  Cloak 

“ Don’t  mind  the  boys,”  said  Tom.  “ What 
do  we  care  for  their  nonsense?  ” 

After  this  there  were  no  butterflies  to  chase, 
no  birds  to  stone.  The  boys  walked  beside  the 
two  young  people,  paying  strict  attention  to 

every  word. 

Tom  thought  the  Evil 
One  had  engaged  their 
services  for  that  morning. 

Late  in  the  afternoon 
there  was  to  be  a sailing- 
party. 

They  all  went  down  to 
the  wharf,  and  stood 
about,  waiting  while  Uncle  Peter  was  hoisting 
his  sail. 

Leslie  knew  Uncle  Peter.  He  lived  in  a 
neighboring  fishing  village,  with  his  daughter- 
in-law,  Lany.  His  business  in  summer  was 

to  take  the  hotel  people  out  on  the  water  in 
his  boat,  which  he  called  the  “ Mary  Adny,” 
after  a boat  he  had  heard  of  which  beat  ” 
in  a Fourth  of  July  race  “ down  to  New 
Bedford.” 

Leslie  was  a great  favorite  of  his.  She  was 
U3 


The  Coloners  Opera  Cloak 

never  sea-sick,  and  she  never  screamed  in  the 
boat. 

Mr.  MacVickar  was  the  general  escort. 
Little  Mr.  Tileson  flirted  with  Miss  Wilder, 
to  make  Leslie  jealous;  but  he  only  made  her 
grateful. 

Tom  had  provided  money  for  Wilfrid  and 
Clarence  to  go  to  the  village  for  fishing-rods 
and  lines,  and  had  thus  procured  a quiet  after- 
noon for  himself,  and  frustrated  the  plans  of  the 
arch-enemy. 

Miss  Wilder  wore  a white  veil,  which  reached 
to  her  nose,  white  gloves,  a blue  flannel  dress 
trimmed  with  broad  white  braid,  — that  was  the 
sailor  part  of  the  costume,  — and  carried  a para- 
sol lined  with  pink.  She  held  a larger  veil,  in 
which  to  entwine  her  head  when  she  should 
fairly  have  set  sail,  lest  a sunbeam  or  a breeze 
should  strike  her  too  roughly. 

Leslie’s  sailor  hat  was  pushed  off  from  her 
face:  it  was  certainly  very  little  protection  to 
her. 

“ Why  don’t  you  follow  that  young  lady’s 
example,”  asked  Tom,  in  an  undertone,  “ and 
wear  a veil,  to  save  your  complexion  ? ” 

Oh,  I love  to  feel  the  wind,”  replied  Leslie. 
154 


The  Coloners  Opera  Cloak 

I can’t  breathe  with  a veil  on.  I only  get  a 
little  darker  : that  does  n’t  matter.  Miss  Wilder 
is  a grand  young  lady,  — she  ’s  a belle,  they  say, 
— and  I am  — only  Leslie.” 

She  said  this  so  sweetly,  that  Tom  wanted  to 
embrace  her  on  the  spot,  though  the  assembled 
world  should  behold;  but  he  was  prevented  by 
an  armful  of  shawls  and  parasols,  not  to  mention 
the  opera  cloak,  which  Pomp  at  the  last  moment 
had  slyly  intrusted  to  his  charge,  “ so  as  Miss 
Leslie  won’t  cotch  no  cold  when  de  night  damps 
comes  along;”  and,  besides,  Leslie  had  already 
jumped  aboard. 

The  boat  was  rather  crowded.  So,  after  they 
had  pushed  off,  Leslie  and  Tom  went  up  before 
the  mast,  where  there  was  just  room  for  two  to 
stand. 

The  air  was  sweet;  there  was  a fresh  breeze. 
The  ‘‘  Mary  Adny  ” flew  along  as  well  as  if  her 
name  had  been  spelled  right.  The  little  reefing- 
lines,  striking  on  the  sail,  made  a sound  like 
light  rain.  The  pennant  fluttered. 

Where  were  care  and  trouble!  Not  a cloud 
was  in  the  sky.  It  was  a summer  sea. 

“ Play  there  is  no  one  here,  and  sing  that 
little  sea  song,”  said  Tom,  — “ the  first  one  I 

155 


The  Colonel’s  Opera  Cloak 

ever  heard  you  sing.  What  a dear  little  song 
that  is!  This  is  just  the  place  for  it.” 

“ ‘ There  was  a little  white  cloud  in  the  sky/  ” 

sang  Leslie. 

Instantly  there  was  quiet  in  the  party. 

“ Why,  what  a lovely  song  that  is,  Miss 
Leslie ! ” cried  Mr.  MacVickar,  when  she  had 
finished  it,  clapping  with  one  of  his  forefingers 
upon  the  other.  “ Why  have  we  never  heard 
that  siren  voice  before  ? ” 

“ You  could  hear  it  any  time,”  said  Leslie, 
“ if  you  listened  at  the  door  when  I put  Clarence 
to  bed.  I sing  to  him  every  night.” 

“ And  why  waste  on  that  small  boy  what  some 
larger  boys  would  purchase  dearly  ? ” 

Leslie  laughed. 

“ O Miss  Wilder,”  she  said  to  the  young  lady 
with  the  pink  parasol,  “ do  sing ! I heard  you 
one  night  in  the  parlor,  when  you  did  not  know 
I was  listening.” 

“ Oh,  do ! ” they  all  urged. 

But  Miss  Wilder  could  not  be  persuaded. 

“ Oh,  I never  sing  before  strangers,”  she  said. 
“ I sometimes  warble  a few  wild  notes  for  Papa. 
That  is  all.” 


The  Colonel’s  Opera  Cloak 

Then  they  begged  Leslie  to  go  on. 

She  sang  several  songs,  until  Tom  said  she 
would  injure  her  voice  in  the  open  air. 

“ Leslie,”  whispered  Mrs.  Morris,  “ stir  Uncle 
Peter  up.  Make  him  talk.” 

Very  little  “ stirring  ” brought  him  to  the 
surface. 

“Wasn’t  it  hot  this  morning.  Uncle  Peter!” 
said  Leslie,  turning  around  to  him. 

“ Wal,”  said  he,  “ it  wa’n’t  what  I call  hot. 
Ef  yer ’d  ben  in  the  terrid  zone,  when  yer  felt 
as  ef  yer  was  in  a biler  o’  hot  water  all  day, 
yer ’d  know  what  hot  was. 

“ Folks  is  more  contr’y  on  weather  ’n  on  any 
thin’  else.  When  it ’s  hot,  they  want  it  cold ; 
an’  when  it ’s  cold,  they  want  it  hot.  I s’pose 
they  ’d  like  it  lewkwarm  all  the  time.” 

“ What  do  you  call  cold  weather.  Uncle 
Peter?”  asked  Tom. 

“ I call  cold  weather  when  yer  wear  a coat  o’ 
ice  all  over  yer,  every  one  o’  the  hairs  on  yer 
head ’s  an  eyecicle,  an’  ye  ’r  sort  o’  cased  in 
ice.” 

“ Where  in  the  world  did  you  get  covered  in 
that  way?  In  the  North  Sea?”  asked  Mrs. 
Morris. 


157 


The  Coloners  Opera  Cloak 


“ No,  marm.  It  was  down 
to  Nantucket,  when  I was  a 
young  feller.  I went  out  to 
help  git  men  off  a sinkin’ 
ship,  an’  that ’s  the  way  I 
looked  when  I got  home. 
I looked  putty  queer,  the 
wimmin-folks  said.” 

“ Did  you  save  the  men?  ” 
“ Yes.” 

“How  many?” 

“ Eight.” 

“ How  many  men  went 
with  you.  Uncle  Peter  ? ” 

“ Two,  — my  father  an’ 
my  brother.” 

“Wasn’t  it  dangerous?” 

“ Yes.” 

“ And  you  saved  the  lives 
of  eight  men ! It  was  a shame 
the  Humane  Society  did  n’t 
give  you  a medal.” 

“They  did ! Bob  yer  heads, 
— bob  yer  heads, — the  sail ’s 
goin’  over,”  said  Uncle  Peter. 
It  was  a fine  place  where 

158 


The  Coloners  Opera  Cloak 

Leslie  stood  with  Tom.  They  did  not  have  to 
notice  the  sail,  and  it  seemed  as  if  they  two,  stand- 
ing side  by  side,  impelled  the  boat  forward,  and 
were  going  on  and  on,  up  the  shining  track, 
into  a land  of  sunshine. 

“ Oh,”  said  Leslie,  taking  a long  breath,  “ I 
should  like  to  be  a sailor.  Should  n’t  I make  a 
good  sailor,  Uncle  Peter?” 

“Oh,  splendid!”  said  he,  with  a scornful 
laugh.  “ Yer  would  n’t  want  to  go  more  ’n  one 
crewse,  I cal’late.  How  long  would  yer  stick  it 
out  on  a wrack!  How  would  yer  like  gittin’ 
soaked  through,  for  one  thing?” 

“ Oh,  I don’t  mind  that ! I ’ve  tried  it,”  said 
Leslie,  looking  at  Tom,  and  laughing. 

“ She  would  n’t  make  no  kind  of  a fisherman, 
anyhow,”  said  Uncle  Peter,  addressing  the  com- 
pany. “ The  day  she  went  blew-fishin’,  she 
a’most  cried  ’cause  I hed  n’t  a hetchet  to  cut  off 
the  fishes’  heads  ’fore  I pitched  ’em  into  the 
berril.  She ’s  drefful  tender-hearted.  She 
could  n’t  never  put  no  bait  on.” 

“ I could  bait  for  frogs,”  said  Leslie,  laughing, 
“ because  they  use  red  flannel  for  that.” 

“Sho!”  said  Uncle  Peter.  “That  ain’t  so! 
I never  heered  on  to  it.” 

159 


The  Colonel’s  Opera  Cloak 

“ I think  the  very  wickedest  and  meanest 
thing  I ever  heard/’  said  Leslie,  earnestly, 
“ is  the  way  they  shoot  gulls.  They  have  a 
boat  sunk  close  down  to  the  water’s  edge, 
near  the  shore,  and  they  put  branches  all 
around  it  to  make  it  look  like  the  ground ; 
and  then  they  wave  a white  handkerchief  to 
the  poor  birds,  who  think  it  is  a friend 
that  wants  to  speak  to  them,  and  they  come 
hurrying  down  out  of  the  sky,  and,  just  as 
they  get  near,  the  great  horrid  man  jumps 
up  out  of  his  hiding-place  and  shoots  the  poor 
things.” 

“ I wonder  if  ' gulling  ’ people  comes  from 
that?”  asked  Mrs.  Morris. 

“ Undoubtedly  it  comes  from  something,” 
said  Mr.  MacVickar,  “ and  why  not  from 
that  ? ” 

“ Now  we  are  going  to  run  through  the 
narrows  into  a bay,”  said  Leslie,  “ and  up  to 
an  old  wharf.  Such  a funny  place!  Did  you 
ever  eat  ice-cream  on  the  roof  of  a house,  Mr. 
Douglas?  ” 

“ No,”  said  Tom.  “ But  I ’ve  eaten  it  on  the 
floor  of  a house.” 

“ Of  course  you  have ; but  that  is  a very  dif- 
i6o 


The  Coloners  Opera  Cloak 

ferent  thing  from  the  roof,  under  an  awning, 
looking  off,  far,  far  off  to  sea.” 

Soon  the  party  landed,  and  went  merrily  up 
the  rocks  to  a little  saloon.  The  ladies  insisted 
on  taking  their  shawls  and  wraps  from  the  boat, 
for  fear  they  might  be  stolen  if  the  old  man 
should  go  ashore. 

Uncle  Peter  sniffed  with  scorn. 

“ Mebbe  this  wharf  or  the  fish-houses  ’ll  walk 
out  and  kerry  ’em  off,”  said  he,  with  awful  sar- 
casm. “ I ’d  better  set  here  an’  watch  ’em, 
hedn’t  I?” 

‘‘  Uncle  Peter  does  n’t  like  that,”  whispered 
Leslie  to  Tom.  “ He  lives  in  this  village. 
That ’s  his  house  over  there,  and  all  the  people 
are  his  relations,  and  such  nice  people!  No  one 
ever  steals.  Why,  I ’ll  leave  all  my  things  in 
the  boat,  and  I shall  feel  safe  if  Uncle  Peter 
does  go  away  from  it.” 

They  had  now  reached  the  saloon. 

“ Oh ! ” said  Mr.  MacVickar,  while  the  man 
was  dusting  the  tables,  and  bringing  on  very 
yellow  and  very  pink  ice-creams ; “I  always 
think,  when  looking  on  the  sea,  — 

‘ Roll  on,  thou  deep  and  dark  blue  ocean,  — roll ! 

Ten  thousand  fleets  sweep  over  thee  in  vain,”’ 

II  i6i 


The  Colonel’s  Opera  Cloak 

and  he  waved  his  hand  toward  Uncle  Peter’s 
boat; 

“ ‘ Man  marks  the  earth  with  ruin  — his  control  ’ ” — 
here  he  turned  toward  the  saloon ; — 

“‘his  control  — 

Man  marks  the  earth  with  ruin  — his  control  ’ ” — 

Stops  with  the  shore,”  said  Tom,  patching 
out  the  verse. 

“Yes,”  said  Mr.  MacVickar;  “and  very  true 
it  is,  — beautifully  true ! ” 

Leslie  was  so  proud  that  Tom  could  help  him 
out.  What  had  n’t  he  read ! 

The  “ ice-cream  man,”  as  Mr.  Tileson  called 
him,  brought  a plate  of  fresh  doughnuts  covered 
with  powdered  sugar. 

“ What  an  odd  thing  to  eat  with  ice-cream ! ” 
said  Miss  Wilder,  taking  a third  one,  and  dust- 
ing the  sugar  from  her  dress. 

“ A wisp-broom  ought  to  go  with  each  one  of 
these  cakes,”  said  little  Tileson. 

They  laughed,  for  they  were  all  brushing 
away  at  their  clothes. 

“ Pretty  good,  Mr.  Tileson,”  said  Mr.  Mac- 
Vickar,— “very  good  indeed,  sir!” 

Mr.  Tileson  thought  at  once  that  he  would 
162 


The  Colonel’s  Opera  Cloak 

have  the  cook  at  home  make  some  cakes  of  this 
kind  the  next  time  they  had  company,  and  that 
he  would  get  off  that  bright  joke  again. 

Tom  looked  at  his  watch. 

“ I think  we  ’ll  have  to  leave  now,  if  I am  to 
catch  my  train,”  said  he.  “ I might  get  Uncle 
Peter  to  run  me  up,  and  let  him  come  back  for 
you.” 

“ Oh,  no : we  are  ready,”  they  all  said. 

“ Why  must  you  go  to-night  ? ” asked  Mr. 
MacVickar. 

“ I have  an  engagement  in  town,”  said  Tom. 

“ You  are  a man  of  engagements,”  said  Mr. 
MacVickar,  pointing  his  remark  by  a very  quiz- 
zical face. 

“ Fool ! ” said  Tom  to  himself,  as  he  returned 
the  look  without  one  gleam  of  intelligence. 

Leslie  had  a little  pitcher  in  her  hand,  when 
she  came  out  of  the  saloon. 

“What  in  the  earth  is  that?”  asked  Tom, 
taking  the  pitcher  from  her.  “ Are  you  going 
to  carry  this  to  your  aunt?  It  will  melt  before 
you  are  half  there.” 

“ Oh,  no,”  said  Leslie.  “ It  is  for  Uncle  Peter. 
I think  he  feels  sort  of  lonely  in  the  boat,  all  by 
himself.” 


163 


The  Coloners  Opera  Cloak 

You  are  a dear,  good  girl,”  said  Tom.  “ You 
are  always  thinking  of  other  people.  I wish  I 
was  Uncle  Peter.” 

“ Oh,  you  need  n’t  wish  that,”  said  Leslie, 
shyly.  “ I ’ll  buy  you  some  ice-cream,  some- 
time, if  you  care  so  much  for  it.  Will  you 
have  pink  or  yellow;  and  will  you  eat  it  from  a 
pitcher  ? ” 

‘‘  I believe  you  are  a little  wicked,”  said 
Tom : “ just  enough  to  keep  you  from  flying 
away.” 

“ That  sounds  like  Mr.  MacVickar,”  said 
Leslie.  “ He  is  always  expecting  ladies  to 
spread  their  wings,  — even  Mrs.  Stevens,  who 
would  need  very  strong  ones ; and  we  al- 
ways rival  the  stars;  and  he  says  something 
about  — 

‘ O woman  ! in  our  hours  of  ease.’  ” 

Tom  thought  of  the  next  line,  — how  it  fitted 
Mrs.  St.  John;  and  then  of  himself,  with  a 
terrible  headache,  and  Leslie’s  soft  hands  on 
his  head. 

“ Wal,”  said  Uncle  Peter,  catching  sight  of 
the  ice-cream ; “ hain’t  yer  hed  enough,  but  yer 
must  fetch  a pitcher-full  aboard  ? ” 

164 


The  Coloners  Opera  Cloak 

“ That ’s  for  you/’  said  Leslie.  “ You  might 
have  gone  up  for  some  just  as  well  as  not.  No- 
body would  have  hurt  your  boat.” 

The  rest  had  now  come  up. 

“ No,”  said  Uncle  Peter,  still  displeased  about 
the  suspicions  of  theft.  “ One  lady  left  her 
rubber,  an’  o’  course  I did  n’t  darst  to  quit 
while  that  was  here : it  might  hev  ben  stole. 
I see  Deacon  Soule  sort  o’  spyin’  round.” 

Mrs.  Morris  and  Leslie  laughed  heartily. 
They  knew  Deacon  Soule  by  sight,  — a very 
solemn-looking  man,  his  hair  all  brushed  up  to 
the  top  of  his  head,  and  braided  in  a flat  little 
braid,  which  looked  as  if  some  one  had  got  inside 
of  his  head  to  arrange  it. 

Uncle  Peter  ate  the  ice-cream  with  a relish, 
and  then  set  the  pitcher  and  spoon  on  the  wharf, 
where  the  owner  was  to  find  them,  — “ Ef 
Deacon  Soule  don’t  ketch  sight  on  ’em  fust,” 
said  Uncle  Peter,  grimly,  as  he  pushed  off. 

They  did  not  notice  that  the  precious  opera 
cloak  had  fallen  from  the  gunwale,  where  Leslie 
had  left  it,  and  drifted  to  the  shore,  near  by. 

The  sun  was  low.  The  sky  was  one  glow  of 
gold  and  rose  color,  — a burning  rose,  that  glo- 
rified the  sky  and  water,  and  lent  a rich  tint 

165 


The  Coloners  Opera  Cloak 

to  the  trees,  whose  heavy  reflection  trembled 
below. 

“ ‘ Where  the  reflections,  clear  and  strong, 

Fall  like  an  echo  to  a song,’  ” 

said  Mrs.  Morris. 

Leslie  wished  she  could  quote.  She  meant  to 
read,  and  learn  things  by  heart,  so  as  to  be  able 
to  do  it.  Everybody  else  could  quote;  and  she 
felt  quite  ashamed. 

Quiet  fell  upon  the  little  party.  The  lapping 
of  the  water  on  the  side  of  the  boat  was  pleasant 
to  the  ear.' 

Tom  trembled  lest  some  one  should  sug- 
gest “ Good-night,  ladies ! ” or  “ Soft  o’er  the 
fountain.” 

Mr.  Tileson  and  Miss  Wilder  stood  for  the 
figure-heads,  this  time.  Leslie  and  Tom  sat  in 
the  stern. 

“ Oh ! ” cried  Leslie.  “ Look  at  the  little  vil- 
lage. It  is  all  gold ! ” 

A star  burned  on  the  steeple  of  the  church, 
and  the  village  windows  were  aglow  with  the 
setting  sun.  The  houses  were  dark  against 
the  yellow  light.  The  little  town  was  trans- 
figured. 

Leslie  sighed  with  delight. 

i66 


The  Colonel’s  Opera  Cloak 

Suddenly  she  put  her  hand  on  Uncle  Peter’s, 
as  he  held  the  tiller. 

“ Stop ! ” she  cried.  “ See ! Wait ! There ’s 
a man  in  the  water ! ” 

They  all  started  to  their  feet. 

“ I don’t  see  none,”  said  Uncle  Peter,  looking 
back.  “ Wher  is  he?  I guess  he’d  holler,  ’f 
he  wanted  help.” 

“ Maybe  he  can’t,”  said  Leslie. 

‘‘Where  is  he?  Where  is  he?”  they  asked, 
all  at  once. 

“ Why,  there ! ” Leslie  pointed.  “ In  the  little 
cove,  where  we  ran  in.  See!  he  is  trying  to 
pull  himself  up  by  some  bushes.  I can  see  his 
arms  move.” 

“ Perhaps  it ’s  Deacon  Soule,  after  the  spoon,” 
said  Tom. 

Leslie  looked  reproachfully  at  him.  There 
were  tears  in  her  eyes. 

Uncle  Peter  wanted  to  get  home  to  supper. 

“ I ’ll  holler,”  said  he.  “ An’  ef  he  don’t  holler 
back,  I think  he  oughter  be  drownded.” 

Uncle  Peter  put  his  hand  to  his  mouth,  and 
called,  — 

“Hallo!  Who  be  yer?  Hallo!” 

No  answer. 


167 


The  Colonel’s  Opera  Cloak 

Tom  was  in  a great  hurry  to  get  back,  so 
as  to  have  a little  talk  with  Leslie  before  he 
went  to  his  train;  for  he  had  something  on  his 
mind,  and  wanted  to  get  it  off.  And  what 
chance  had  he  had  that  day? 

“Those  boys!”  he  said  to  himself.  “And 
that  confounded  old  cloak,  last  night!  That 
just  spoiled  my  chance.  If  Uncle  Peter  should 
go  back  now,  the  last  hope  would  be  gone.  I 
could  barely  catch  the  train.” 

But  he  could  not  resist  Leslie’s : “ Please 

make  him  go  back.  Please,  — please  do.” 

“ Come,  Uncle  Peter,”  said  Tom,  “ I ’ll  give 
you  half  a dollar  if  you  ’ll  turn  back.  But  you 
have  got  to  hurry.” 

“ Oh,  you  must  go  back ! ” cried  the  ladies, 
trembling.  “You  must.  Uncle  Peter!” 

“ Why,  the  idea  of  leaving  a man  in  that  sit- 
uation!” said  Mrs.  Morris.  “It  will  never  do. 
I should  feel  like  a murderer.” 

“But,  maybe,  he  has  just  slipped  in,  and  is 
pulling  himself  out,”  said  Mr.  MacVickar,  who 
dreaded  the  night  air  on  his  rheumatic  shoulder. 
“ Let  the  boat  lie  still  until  we  see.” 

The  figure  remained  quiet  for  a few  seconds, 
and  then  struggled  wildly. 


The  Coloners  Opera  Cloak 

“ Nobody  can’t  drownd  there,”  said  Uncle 
Peter,  “ ’nless  he  tries  to.  ‘ It ’s  shoal  in  the 
cove.  I do  believe  it ’s  a boy  try  in’  to  scare  us. 
Hallo!” 

“Who  be  yer?  Who  be  yer?”  he  called 
again. 

“ Be  yer?  ” echoed  from  the  cliff. 

Uncle  Peter  was  very  indignant  that  the  man 
would  n’t  “ holler.” 

“ Perhaps  he ’s  deaf,”  said  Leslie. 

“ Or  dumb,”  said  Miss  Wilder. 

“ Or  contr’y,”  said  Uncle  Peter. 

“ Well,  we  will  go  back  and  see,”  said  Tom. 
“ That ’s  our  business  now.”  And  Leslie’s 
grateful  smile  fully  repaid  him. 

“Why  don’t  he  get  up?”  asked  Mrs. 
Morris.  They  were  all  straining  their  eyes. 
“ I should  think  he  could.  He  has  hold  of  the 
bushes.” 

“ Perhaps  they  give  way  when  he  pulls,”  said 
one  of  the  party.  “ Sometimes  he  gets  tired, 
and  only  holds  on.  Perhaps  he  fell  into  the 
water,  and  is  faint.” 

“Why  don’t  he  holler,  then?”  asked  Uncle 
Peter,  keeping  to  his  grievance.  “ Time  to 
holler  is  when  you  want  suthin’.” 

169 


The  Coloners  Opera  Cloak 

The  light  was  fading;  the  shadows  deepened 
in  the  little  cove. 

Miss  Wilder  was  faint. 

“ Will  he  have  to  be  brought  into  the  boat, 
if  he  is  dead?”  she  asked,  with  horror  in  her 
tone. 

“ Wonder  nobody  ain’t  stole  him,”  said  Uncle 
Peter,  sarcastically,  “ along  o’  the  pitcher ! ” 

Tom  could  hardly  help  laughing;  but  Leslie 
looked  so  solemn  that  he  did  not  dare  to.  Be- 
sides, there  the  poor  fellow  was,  struggling  in 
the  water. 

As  the  boat  rounded  into  the  cove,  Tom  sprang 
up  on  the  little  cabin,  and,  holding  on  by  the 
mast,  bent  down,  ready  to  catch  the  drowning 
man. 

A sudden  breeze  swept  over  the  bay.  The 
man  threw  up  his  arms  wildly.  There  was  a 
flapping  of  something  red. 

A shout  went  up  from  the  boat.  Tom  leaned 
over,  and  pulled  on  board  the  “ drownded  man,” 
— O.  C.  St.  John,  Esquire. 

“ It  is  that  old  cloak  of  Mrs.  St.  John’s,”  cried 
Mrs.  Morris,  laughing.  “ Now,  Uncle  Peter, 
you  see  why  he  could  n’t  ‘ holler.’  ” 

Leslie  put  her  face  in  her  hands.  She  was 
170 


The  Coloners  Opera  Cloak 

ready  to  cry  with  shame.  She  had  delayed  them 
all,  and  Tom  would  be  vexed  about  losing  his 
train.  But  no  one  cared : it  was  an  adventure. 

“ I expected  to  help  pull  him  in,”  said  Mrs. 
Morris,  ‘‘  and  lay  him  on  his  left  side,  — no,  on 
his  right,  — which  side  is  it  that  you  lay  drowned 
people  on  ? — and  get  a medal.  That ’s  all  I 
mind,  and  I shall  look  to  you  for  it,  Leslie, 
because  he  belongs  to  you.” 

Uncle  Peter’s  good-nature  was  restored  when 
Tom  slipped  the  promised  coin  into  his  hand. 

“ When  I thought  it  was  a man,”  said  he, 
confidentially,  “ I was  mad  to  hev  him  sich  a 
fool,  — would  n’t  holler ! But,  when  I see  it 
was  a cloth  cape,  I thought  it  was  a pretty  smart 
cape,  to  make  out  he  was  a man.” 

Leslie  looked  over  the  side  of  the  boat,  and 
trailed  her  hand  along  in  the  water.  Tom 
wrapped  a shawl  about  her,  which  Mrs.  Morris 
had  handed  him,  and  let  his  hand  slide  from  her 
shoulder  until  it  touched  hers  lightly. 

Don’t  mind,”  he  whispered.  ‘‘  It  was  noth- 
ing at  all : they  all  think  it  is  funny.” 

“ Don’t  be  vexed  with  me,”  said  Leslie,  “ if 
you  lose  your  train.  If  it  had  really  been  a 
man,  you  would  n’t  have  minded.” 

171 


The  Colonel’s  Opera  Cloak 

“ That ’s  all  right.  There ’s  plenty  of  time. 
Vexed  with  you,  Leslie!  How  could  I be?” 
Tom  whispered  in  return. 

“ Come,  listen,”  said  Mrs.  Morris : “I’m 

going  to  tell  a story. 

“ Once  upon  a time  there  was  a lady,  a young 
lady,  who  was  so  anxious  to  procure  a medal 
from  the  Humane  Society,  that  one  day  she 
hired  a boat,  and  invited  a large  party  of 
friends  to  aid  her  in  searching  for  a ship- 
wrecked mariner.  So  out  they  went  upon  the 
ocean,  — Mr.  MacVickar’s  deep  and  dark  blue 
ocean,”  — 

“ Byron’s,  madam,”  said  Mr.  MacVickar : “ I 
cannot  claim  that  fine  apostrophe.” 

Mrs.  Morris  opened  her  eyes  at  Tom. 

“ Well,”  she  continued,  “ upon  Byron’s  deep 
and  dark  blue  ocean,  on  a fine  summer  after- 
noon. The  first  thing  they  discovered,  with 
mingled  feelings,  was  a floating  object.  Tears 
filled  their  eyes,  grief  their  bosoms.  It  was  a 
man  and  a brother.  They  neared  him;  they 
thought  of  the  medal ; they  reflected  that  ^ he 
was  some  mother’s  son.’ 

“ Suddenly  it  was  discovered  that  it  was 
nothing  but  an  old  cloak;  and  then,  when  joy 
172 


The  Colonels  Opera  Cloak 

should  have  possessed  them,  they  fell  a prey  to 
sadness.  For,  ah,  where  was  the  medal! 

“ The  others  quickly  recovered ; but  this 
young  lady  could  not  be  comforted.  She  leaned 
so  far  over  the  boat  that  an  elderly  lady,  her 
friend,  was  obliged  to  entreat  a young  gentle- 
man to  hold  her  in.  I don’t  wish  to  be  per- 
sonal; but,  Mr.  Douglas,  don’t  let  the  lady  with 
the  Rob  Roy  shawl  fall  into  the  water.” 

Leslie  laughed.  She  knew  that  Mrs.  Morris 
had  told  the  silly  little  story  to  divert  her,  and, 
perhaps,  too,  to  show  her  that  she  was  making 
too  much  of  the  affair.  She  took  the  lesson, 
if  such  it  was,  and  smiled. 

“ I think  you  are  very  kind,  not  to  be  vexed,” 
she  said.  “ I ’m  afraid  you  will  all  lose  your 
suppers,  and  that  Mr.  Douglas  will  miss  his 
train,  for  the  tide  is  running  out.” 

‘‘Yes,”  said  Uncle  Peter;  “but  ain’t  I got 
my  oars  aboard,  an’  ain’t  I got  two  arms? 
Nobody  won’t  lose  no  suppers  nor  nothin’,  I 
bet,  to-night.” 

The  tide  had  run  out,  however,  so  much  that 
they  had  to  go  ashore  in  a “ skift,”  as  Uncle 
Peter  called  it,  two  at  a time. 

“ You  go  first,  with  Leslie,  Mr.  Douglas,” 
U3 


The  Coloners  Opera  Cloak 

said  Mrs.  Morris.  “Trains  won’t  wait,  and 
suppers  will.” 

Tom  blessed  her.  Perhaps  he  would  get  his 
chance  yet. 

They  stepped  into  the  skif¥.  Uncle  Peter 
sculled  them  to  the  wharf,  and  left  them.  A 
stable-boy  was  waiting  there. 

“ Did  you  want  to  ketch  the  train?  ” he  asked. 

“ Yes,”  said  Tom,  “ I must.” 

“ Well,  I ’ve  had  the  horse  harnessed  ever  so 
long,  a-lookin'  for  you.  I thought  you  ’d  be  too 
late.  We  ’ll  have  to  hurry  like  sixty.” 

“ Go  up,”  said  Tom.  “ I 'll  come.” 

He  took  Leslie’s  hand  in  a firm,  close  grasp. 

“ Good-by,”  he  said. 

“All  ready!”  called  the  boy. 

“ Good-by,  Miss  Leslie.  I ’ll  be  down  again 
soon.  Don’t  forget  me.  Promise  I ” 

“ I ’ll  promise,”  said  Leslie,  softly. 

“ You  ’ll  git  left!  ” called  the  boy. 

“ Good-by!  ” said  Tom  again.  “ There  comes 
the  skiff.  Good-by ! ” 

As  soon  as  they  reached  the  house,  Mrs. 
St.  John  called  Leslie  upstairs.  She  had  been 
watching  for  the  party. 

“ So  Mr.  Douglas  caught  his  train,”  said  she, 

174 


The  Colonel’s  Opera  Cloak 

shutting  the  door  of  her  room.  “ Well,  Leslie, 
did  he  make  you  an  offer?  ” 

“ No.’’ 

“Well,  I declare;  and  after  all  the  pains  I 
have  taken  to  keep  those  boys  away,  and  plan 
this  sail,  and  invite  him  here,  he  has  slipped 
away  in  the  dark!  I don’t  believe  he  had  any 
engagement  in  town : he  did  n’t  care  to  face  me, 
after  such  dishonorable  conduct.  I reckon  he  ’d 
have  done  differently,  if  the  Colonel  had  been 
here.  I wish  he ’d  just  met  up  with  him.” 

Leslie  said  nothing. 

“ Why  don’t  you  speak  ? ” said  Mrs.  St.  John, 
displeased  at  her  silence.  “ How  much  more 
did  you  want  me  to  do  ? ” 

“ Nothing,”  said  Leslie. 

“Nothing!”  repeated  Mrs.  St.  John.  “I 
wonder  how  much  would  be  done  in  the  world, 
if  no  one  did  any  thing ! I ’ve  spent  days  and 
days  in  planning  for  you,  and  I live  to  hear 
you  say  you  want  ‘ nothing  ’ from  me.  Per- 
haps Mr.  Douglas  did  n’t  have  time,  you  will 
say.  How  long  would  it  take  him  to  ask,  ‘ Will 
you  marry  me?  ’ ” 

“ I don’t  know,”  said  Leslie,  crying. 

“ Well,  I do,”  said  her  aunt : “ about  half 


The  Colonel’s  Opera  Cloak 

a minute;  and  he  had  twenty-four  hours  for 
it.” 

Leslie  felt  as  if  she  had  a sum  to  do:  if  a 
man  can  offer  himself  in  a half  minute,  how 
many  times  can  he  offer  himself  in  twenty-four 
hours  ? 

She  was  utterly  miserable. 

There  was  a knock  at  the  door.  Mr.  Mac- 
Vickar  wished  to  know  if  Mrs.  St.  John  was  not 
coming  down. 

“ Certainly,”  said  Mrs.  St.  John.  “ I am 
coming  down  before  long.” 

In  the  parlor,  she  heard  the  story  of  the  ship- 
wrecked mariner. 

“ We  may  safely  say,”  she  remarked,  “ that 
there  was  one  of  this  party  who  did  n’t  mind 
being  delayed,  and  would  gladly  have  lost  his 
train.  Poor  Leslie,  I do  believe  she  will  have 
to  marry  Mr.  Douglas,  whether  or  no.  He  is 
so  determined.  I never  saw  a man  so  in  love 
in  all  my  life.” 

Tom  was  rather  low-spirited  as  he  rolled 
away  over  the  country  road.  He  had  been 
frustrated  at  every  turn.  He  wished  the  old 
opera  cloak  had  been  drowned  for  good.  ‘‘  I 
176 


The  Coloners  Opera  Cloak 

believe  the  Evil  One  left  the  boys,  and  entered 
it,  — that  is,  if  it  is  n’t  the  very  Evil  One  him- 
self,” said  Tom.  “ I thought  at  one  time  O.  C. 
St.  John  was  favoring  me,  to  Mr.  Cavello’s  dis- 
comfort ; but  he  has  gone  against  me  now. 
He ’s  making  a clear  coast  for  some  other  fel- 
low. Mrs.  St.  John  said  Merrill  was  very  at- 
tentive to  her.  Of  course.  Why  not?  And 
he  has  the  inside  track. 

“ I wish  I had  pushed  those  boys  and  their 
cloak  into  the  sea  last  night.  Gracious!  That 
was  a chance,  if  they  had  n’t  spoiled  it.  It  was 
on  my  lips  that  minute.” 

Poor  Tom  smiled  a grim  smile. 

“ Well,  it ’s  a queer  world.  I wonder  how 
all  this  is  coming  out.”  ' 

What  a change  it  was  to  sit  in  the  dreary  car 
with  twoscore  strange  people,  where  the  lamps 
burned  dimly,  but  smelt  strongly. 

Was  it  less  than  an  hour  since  he  held  Leslie’s 
hand  1 

Tom  looked  out  of  the  window.  The  moon 
was  sailing  through  light  clouds.  Happy  moon ! 
It  was  looking  down  on  Leslie. 


12 


177 


IX 


The  morning  was  delightfully  cool ; the  sea 
sparkled  in  the  sun  with  a brilliant  and 
dazzling  brightness,  “ which  could  only  be 
caught,”  said  the  young  lady  who  sketched, 
“ by  using  coarse  paper,  and  scratching  little 
specks  of  paint  off  after  the  ocean  had  been  all 
washed  in.” 

A group  of  old  apple-trees  near  the  hotel, 
gnarled  and  covered  with  yellow  lichens,  bent 
toward  the  land,  bowed  by  the  sea-winds  of 
many  winters. 

The  gulls  fluttered,  and  poised  themselves  over 
the  water  in  scattered  flocks. 

The  far-off  ships  stood  like  phantoms  on  the 
horizon’s  rim.  The  atmosphere  seemed  to 
tremble  and  vibrate. 

The  morning  could  not  have  been  finer,  if 
Mrs.  St.  John  had  made  it  herself.  She  had 
178 


The  Colonel’s  Opera  Cloak 

approached  the  feat,  as  nearly  as  possible,  by 
setting  the  day  apart  for  a clam-bake;  and  she 
complacently  received  the  compliments  of  the 
party,  as  she  sat  in  a Shaker  chair  on  the  piazza, 
after  breakfast. 

Mr.  MacVickar  sat  beside  her.  He  was  quite 
in  accord  with  the  day.  He  wore  a light  flannel 
suit  and  a Panama  hat. 

The  piazza  was  filled  with  ladies,  busied  with 
the  pleasant  flurry  of  “ getting  off.” 

Leslie  stood  by  the  steps,  with  an  armful  of 
shawls.  The  boys  came  hopping  toward  her 
like  frogs. 

“ Say,  Leslie,”  said  little  Clarence,  “ the 
people  who  hired  the  big  carriage  yesterday 
did  n’t  bring  it  back,  and  the  picnic  has  got  to 
go  in  the  little  ones.  I ’m  jolly  glad  of  it,  for 
I shall  drive  one  horse.” 

“ No,  you  won’t  either,”  retorted  Wilfrid. 

They  would  n’t  trust  you  with  any  horse  except 
a saw-horse.” 

“ They  would,  too,”  said  Clarence.  “ I ’ll  bet 
I could  drive  a tandem  team  that  could  run 
lickerty  split,  and  smash  every  thing  to  pieces, 
— so,  there!” 

The  carriages  came  to  the  door.  The  people 
179 


The  Colonel’s  Opera  Cloak 

who  were  going  to  the  clam-bake  stood  about 
waiting  for  Mr.  MacVickar,  who  was  the  leader, 
and  who  had  promised  to  sing  at  dinner  a song 
about  a young  lady  who  drank  only  with  her 
eyes. 

He  was  in  high  feather  to-day,  for  all  the 
younger  beaux  had  gone  to  the  city,  and  the 
papas  and  husbands  were  glad  to  throw  the  care 
upon  him. 

The  ladies  took  their  novels  and  their  fancy- 
work,  — calico  birds  to  be  sewed  on  to  dish- 
towels.  Miss  Nelson  took  her  paint-boxes  and 
brushes,  a jar  full  of  water,  a sketching-block, 
a camp-stool,  and  a large  white  umbrella  with  a 
shining  ball  on  the  top.  Her  palette  hung  from 
her  belt.  Mr.  MacVickar  called  her  Art,  and 
asked  if  Literature  and  Science  would  not  join 
her  at  the  clam-bake. 

Mrs.  St.  John  looked  the  carriages  carefully 
over,  selected  the  easiest,  and  seated  herself 
in  it. 

At  last  they  were  ready  to  start,  and  there  was 
no  room  for  Leslie.  Every  one  exclaimed,  but 
no  one  offered  to  ride  “ three  on  a seat.” 

“ Please  don’t  mind  me,”  said  Leslie.  “ I am 
tired  to-day : I rowed  so  hard  yesterday.  I ’d 
i8o 


The  Coloners  Opera  Cloak 

really  rather  stay  at  home.  Do  let  me,  Aunt 
Marie.” 

Mrs.  St.  John  glanced  around.  She  had  the 
most  room  in  her  carriage:  Leslie  would  fall  to 
her  share. 

“ Well,”  said  she,  smiling  significantly  at 
the  company,  and  then  at  Leslie,  “ I suppose 
young  ladies  must  have  a little  time  to  meditate 
and  write  long  letters,  once  in  a while.” 

“Ah,  Miss  Leslie,”  said  Mr.  MacVickar,  ris- 
ing and  bowing,  — 

“ Your  heart ’s  in  the  city, 

Your  heart  is  not  here ; 

Your  heart’s  in  the  city, 

A-chasing  your  — 

Oh ! ” he  exclaimed,  sitting  down  in  a very 
forcible  way,  as  the  horses  started.  And  away 
they  all  whirled,  bowing,  and  calling  “ Good-by.” 

Tom  had  brought  “ Cousin  Phillis  ” to  Leslie. 
Oh,  what  a blissful  day  this  would  be  to  read  it 
in!  There  was  no  one  to  bother  her.  Even 
Pomp  had  gone  to  the  city  in  an  early  train,  to 
get  from  the  house  something  which  her  aunt 
had  forgotten. 

Leslie  went  to  her  room  for  the  book;  and, 
seeing  the  opera  cloak  hanging  on  a chair, 

i8i 


The  Coloners  Opera  Cloak 

she  took  it,  and,  equipped  with  that  and  a 
large  parasol,  set  off  for  a morning  on  the 
rocks. 

She  walked  along  the  beach  until  she  came 
to  Cannon  Rock,  where  she  climbed  to  a seat 
which  almost  overhung  the  sea.  She  made  the 
cloak  into  a cushion,  propped  the  parasol  up  at 
her  side,  and  took  up  her  book. 

But  soon  the  bright  pebbles  enticed  her  to 
the  beach.  Tom  had  promised  to  have  some 
polished  for  her  for  a necklace.  What  a neck- 
lace it  would  be,  full  of  memories  of  the  sky 
and  of  sea,  and  of  this  wonderful  summer,  and 
of  Tom,  above  all! 

She  wandered  along  to  a little  wharf,  where 
Uncle  Peter  sat,  swinging  his  legs  over  the 
water.  He  was  as  brown  and  gnarled  as  the 
apple-trees : he  would  have  been  as  yellow  with 
lichens,  had  he  sat  still  long  enough.  Almost 
every  thing  here  was  covered  with  lichens  and 
moss. 

The  old  man  smiled  on  her  as  she  approached, 
and  said,  “ Hallo,  Leslie!  ” with  that  Yankee  in- 
dependence which  is  so  amusing.  “ Yer  ain’t 
lost  nothin’,  hev  yer?  I see  yer  a-lookin’  along 
the  beach.” 


182 


The  Coloners  Opera  Cloak 

“ Oh,  no,”  she  replied.  “ I was  only  getting 
some  bright  pebbles  for  a necklace.” 

Uncle  Peter  shook  his  head,  and  laughed 
scornfully. 

“ I never  see  en’thin’  to  beat  city  folks. 
They  ’ll  kerry  away  enough  stuff,  when  they 
come  here,  to  make  an  island.  One  ’oman  paid 
me  for  fetchin’  sea-weeds  to  her,  an’  she  give 
me  fifty  cents  for  ten  big  hoss-foots.  She  was 
as  partic’lar  to  hev  whole  tails  on  ’em,  as  they ’d 
’a’  ben  themselves  when  they  was  alive.  I 
thought  I should  hev  died  to  keep  from  laughin’, 
when^she  was  a-payin’  me.” 

“ Oh,”  said  Leslie,  “ she  wanted  them  for 
catch-alls.  I have  seen  the  ladies  making  them. 
They  put  a puff  of  crimson  silk  behind  them, 
and  bows  of  ribbon,  and  hang  them  on  the 
parlor  wall.” 

“ Lor ! ” cried  Uncle  Peter,  in  utter  astonish- 
ment. “ Yer  don’t  say  so!  I allers  heave  mine 
to  the  hog.  But  the  most  sing’lar  thing  that 
’oman  did,”  continued  Uncle  Peter,  “ was  to  hunt 
up  clam-shells  an’  flat  rocks,  an’  paint  pictur’s  on 
’em.  I ’ll  bet  her  trunk  wa’n’t  no  joke  to  h’ist, 
when  she  went  off!  But,  then,  no  city  trunks 
ain’t,  when  they  fust  come.  I ’ve  hefted  ’em 

183 


The  Colonel’s  Opera  Cloak 

sometimes,  an’  I should  think  they  was  allers 
full  o’  rocks.” 

“ I think  stones  and  shells  are  lovely,”  said 
Leslie.  “ I wish  I could  paint  on  them.” 

“ I don’t  wish  to  speak  dis’espec’ful  o’ 
shells,”  said  Uncle  Peter.  “ Why,  I ’ve  picked 
up  shells  myself,  when  I was  oft  on  a South 
Sea  crewse.  I scooped  ’em  up  in  my  het  to 
fetch  home;  but  they  wa’n’t  clam-shells,  I 
can  tell  yer ! They  was  all  pink  an’  yeller, 

an’  gold  an’  silver.  I ’ll  fetch  yer  a fistful 

to-morrer.  Lany  keeps  ’em  in  bottles  on  the 
mantel-tree.” 

“ Oh,”  said  Leslie,  “ I should  like  them  so 
much ! I’d  keep  them  always.  But  perhaps 
your  daughter  won’t  like  to  part  with  them.  Is 
she  better  to-day?” 

“ I guess  we  ’ll  fetch  her  round  now,”  replied 
Uncle  Peter.  “ But  I thought  she ’d  be  hauled 
up,  one  time.  Lany ! why,  she ’d  give  ’em  to  yer 
herself.  She  don’t  set  no  store  by  ’em.” 

“ The  sun  is  so  hot,”  said  Leslie,  “ that  I think 
I ’ll  go  back.  I wish  there  were  some  trees 
along  the  shore,  so  that  you  could  sail  under 
them  and  anchor,  and  I could  lie  in  the  boat 
and  read.” 


184 


The  Colonel’s  Opera  Cloak 

“ Oh,  trees  ain’t  no  good  for  shade,”  said 
Uncle  Peter.  “ It ’s  rocks  that  shades.  I know 
a cove  where  we  could  run  in  an’  be  as  cold  as 
ice.  I ’ll  take  yer  there,  ef  yer  want  to  go.” 

“Oh,  do!”  cried  Leslie.  “That  will  be 
lovely.  I ’ll  run  back  to  the  rock  for  my 
things.” 

A gentleman  had  driven  up  to  the  hotel  door, 


where  the  la 
ing  in  portly  d 
St.  John,  doe 
here  ? ” he  ask 


“ Oh,  yes,”  said 


lord,  stepping  to 
buggy.  “ But 
the  whole  fam- 


ily, in  fact 
most  of  my 
guests,  have 
gone  to  a I 
clam-bake.  I ' 


don’t  expect 
them  back  till 
supper-time. 


I ’m  sorry  they 


185 


The  Coloners  Opera  Cloak 

are  away,  sir.  You ’d  better  get  out.  Your  horse 
looks  as  if  he  had  had  a long  run.” 

The  gentleman  allowed  a small  boy,  who  ap- 
peared at  this  moment,  to  take  his  horse,  and 
accepted  the  landlord’s  invitation. 

“ I tell  you,  sir,”  said  Mr.  Saunders,  after  they 
had  seated  themselves  on  the  piazza,  “ it  is  n’t 
often  you  come  across  a Southern  family  like 
the  St.  Johns,  nowadays.  They  have  four  of 
my  best  rooms  for  the  summer,  and  think  no 
more  of  money  than  of  just  nothing  at  all,  sir.- 
They  are  very  wealthy,  as  of  course  you  know, 
if  they  are  friends  of  yours.  The  young  lady 
is  an  heiress,  — untold  wealth,  in  fact,  I ’ve 
heard,  — and  a very  beautiful  young  lady  she 
is.  The  young  men  are  quite  carried  away  with 
her.  I believe  she  is  to  marry  a young  man 
from  the  city.  He  was  down  here  a few  days 
ago.” 

“Oh!  his  name,  it  was  Mr.  Douglas?”  asked 
the  gentleman. 

“ Yes,  that  was  his  name.  He  came  to  attend 
our  hop;  and  a very  nice  hop  it  was.  You 
know  him,  I suppose  ? ” 

“ Yes,  I do  know  him.” 

“ Well,  sir,  won’t  you  walk  in  and  look 

i86 


The  Coloners  Opera  Cloak 

at  the  newspapers  ? I am  sorry  they  are 
away.” 

The  red  side  of  the  opera  cloak  hung  over  the 
rock,  and  now  caught  the  landlord’s  eye.  At 
that  moment,  also,  a lithe  figure  in  dark  blue 
appeared,  far  down  on  the  beach. 

“ Why,  that ’s  Miss  St.  John,  now ! I thought 
she  ’d  gone.  I ’ll  send  a boy  for  her.” 

“ No,”  said  the  stranger.  “ I will  myself  go 
for  her.  You  may  put  my  horse  in  your  stable.” 
Mr.  Cavello  had  been  suspicious  of  Tom  since 
the  day  he  last  saw  him  in  Margrave  Street. 
He  was  sure  that  Tom  knew  where  the  St. 
Johns  had  gone,  although  he  had  made  believe 
he  did  not.  After  waiting  in  vain  for  an  answer 
from  the  Colonel,  he  had  turned  his  steps  to 
the  Doctor’s,  when  he  knew  Tom  would  be 
at  his  office,  to  ask  for  Mrs.  St.  John’s  address. 
As  he  approached,  he  saw  Ned  playing  on  the 
sidewalk. 

“ How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Cavello?  ” said  the  little 
fellow.  “ You  did  n’t  go  to  the  beach  with  the 
rest  of  them,  did  you  ? ” 

“No,  I have  not  gone  yet;  but  I go  now. 
I have  lost  the  address.  Can  you  tell  it  to 
me?” 


187 


The  ColoneFs  Opera  Cloak 

Oh,  yes,  I know  the  place.  I went  there 
once  last  summer  with  Bessie.  You  can  find 
it  easy  enough.  Tom  went  there  last  week.” 
And  the  child  gave  him  over  and  over  again 
the  most  careful  directions,  and  sent  his  love 
to  the  boys. 

Mr.  Cavello  walked  off  in  high  spirits.  He 
would  go  to  Mrs.  St.  John,  and  be  very  angry, 
and  tell  her  that  he  was  to  fight  the  Colonel 
and  young  Mr.  Douglas,  and  that  he  would 
revenge  himself  on  them  all ; and  he  would 
marry  Leslie.  She  should  never  marry  Mr. 
Douglas. 

Poor  Mr.  Cavello’s  heart  was  really  touched. 
He  had  not  known  that  he  had  one  before,  and 
it  was  a real  pleasure  to  make  the  discovery. 

What  there  was  of  it  must  have  been  good, 
for  it  was  Leslie’s  sweetness  and  goodness  which 
had  won  him.  He  had  seen  many  more 
beautiful  girls,  but  never  one  like  her.  Oh, 
if  he  could  only  carry  her  away  to  his  plan- 
tation, away  from  everiTody  else,  he  would 
buy  her  the  most  beautiful  jewels  and  dresses, 
and  his  slaves  should  wait  upon  her  day  and 
night ; and  a sense  of  something  purer  and  finer 
than  he  had  ever  known  filled  his  soul,  until 

i88 


The  Colonel’s  Opera  Cloak 

he  was  lost  in  wonder  and  admiration  of 
himself. 

Leslie  had  picked  up  the  cloak,  the  parasol 
and  the  book,  and  had  begun  to  descend  to  the 
beach,  merrily  humming  to  herself,  when  she 
became  conscious  of  some  one  approaching. 
Was  it  Tom?  Her  heart  almost  stopped 
beating.  She  looked  up,  and  uttered  a little 
cry. 

Mr.  Cavello  raised  his  hat. 

‘‘  Do  not  come  down.  Miss  Leslie,”  he  called. 
‘‘  It  is  I who  will  come  to  you.  You  have  a fine 
place  up  there.” 

Leslie  sat  down  in  despair,  and  Mr.  Cavello 
took  his  seat  beside  her,  and  held  the  sun- 
umbrella  over  them  both. 

They  seemed  very  cozy  and  friendly,  the 
landlord  thought,  as  he  stood  looking  at  them 
from  a distance,  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets. 

Leslie  was  silent  after  the  first  greetings. 

‘‘  I thought  I would  find  where  you  had  gone,” 
said  Mr.  Cavello,  fanning  himself  with  his  hat, 
his  anger  fading  in  Leslie’s  presence.  “ Why 
did  you  run  away  from  me  ? ” 

“ Oh,  I did  n’t  run  away  from  you,”  said 


The  Coloners  Opera  Cloak 

Leslie,  earnestly.  She  had  felt  ashamed  at  the 
way  in  which  her  aunt  had  treated  him. 

“ I should  have  written  you,”  she  added,  “ and 
sent  you  the  keys,  only  I did  not  know  where 
you  were.  It  was  too  bad:  your  clothes  were 
all  there.” 

“ Oh,  that  was  of  little  matter,”  said  Mr. 
Cavello.  “You  know  I had  a room  at  the  club, 
where  I went  with  my  friends,  and  I had  other 
trunks  there.”  Leslie’s  imagination  was  limited 
in  respect  of  wardrobes.  “ But  it  was  of  your 
unkindness  I was  troubled.” 

“ They  are  all  away  to-day,”  said  Leslie, 
taking  no  notice  of  his  remarks.  “ They  have 
gone  to  a picnic,  and  Pomp  is  in  the  city.  I am 
so  sorry  that  I don’t  know  where  he  keeps  the 
keys;  but  I will  send  them  to  you.” 

“ Oh,  that  is  nothing,”  said  Mr.  Cavello.  “ I 
have  money  enough.  I can  buy  as  much  clothes 
as  I wish.  I only  used  to  stay  at  your  aunt’s, 
you  know,  because  when  my  visit  was  done  I 
could  not  go  away  from  you.  But  you  did  not 
care.  I had  a beautiful  gift  for  your  aunt  for 
letting  me  stay  there ; but  she  ran  you  all  away.” 
Mr.  Cavello  did  not  mention  the  money  he 
had  lent  the  Colonel. 

190 


The  Coloners  Opera  Cloak 

“ Oh,  you  must  not  care  for  me,”  cried 
Leslie,  in  distress,  the  swift  color  rushing  to 
her  cheeks. 

“ But  I cannot  help  to  love  you,”  said  Mr. 
Cavello.  “ But  I know  very  well  you  do  not 
like  me,  and  you  do  like  some  one  else.” 

He  looked  so  forlorn  that  Leslie’s  tender 
heart  was  touched. 

“ Oh,  I do  not  say  that,  — I do  not  think,  — 
nobody  cares  ” — 

‘‘If  there  is  nobody  else,  perhaps  you  will 
some  time  love  me.  I would  get  every  thing  for 
you  that  women  like.  I have  plenty  of  money,” 
said  Mr.  Cavello. 

“ That  would  not  make  any  difference  with 
me,”  said  Leslie,  gently.  “ I do  not  care  for 
money,  nor  for  diamonds,  nor  for  any  of  the 
things  Aunt  Marie  likes.  If  I should  ever  marry 
anybody,  it  would  be  just  because  I loved  him, 
and  not  for  what  he  had.  I would  marry  him, 
if  he  was  very,  very  poor,  so  that  I should  have 
to  work  hard  all  the  time.” 

Leslie’s  slender  hands  were  crossed  upon  her 
lap.  Mr.  Cavello  touched  them  lightly. 

“ What  work  could  such  little  hands  do  ? ” 
he  said  in  a tender  tone. 


The  Colonel’s  Opera  Cloak 

Leslie  shook  off  his  hand  as  if  it  had  been 
a viper. 

“ Oh,  do  not  talk  so  to  me ! ” she  cried  pas- 
sionately, the  tears  starting  to  her  eyes.  “ Am 
I not  unhappy  enough,  with  nobody  to  care  for 
me,  but  that  you  must  trouble  me,  too?  I have 
no  mother,  like  most  girls.  Aunt  Marie  does  n’t 
love  me.  I shall  never  marry  anybody.  Who 
would  love  me?  Don’t  speak  to  me!  Don’t 
say  a word  I ” 

Mr.  Cavello  was  startled.  He  had  never  seen 
Leslie  so  excited.  She  was  lamenting  that 
nobody  loved  her,  and  at  the  same  time  forbid- 
ding anybody  to  think  of  her. 

“ I will  not  say  any  more,”  said  he,  “ if  you 
will  stop  crying.  If  you  cannot  love  me,  will 
you  not  be  my  good  friend  always  ? ” And  he 
held  out  his  hand. 

The  change  in  his  tone  comforted  the  girl. 

“ Oh,  yes,  I ’ll  be  your  friend ; but  do  not 
say  such  things  to  me  any  more.” 

‘‘You  will  know,”  said  Mr.  Cavello,  “ that  I 
am  going  away  very  soon.  A week  from  to-day 
the  steamer  sails,  and  you  will  never  see  me 
any  more,  ever  ; and  I should  like  to  know  you 
are  my  good  friend,  before  I go.  Will  you  do 
192 


The  Coloners  Opera  Cloak 

me  a last  kindness,  and  go  to  a little  drive  with 
me?  ” 

At  the  pleasant  news  of  his  speedy  departure 
Leslie  grew  cheerful,  and  said  kindly,  — 

“ I ’ll  go  for  a little  while;  but  you  must  stay 
and  dine  with  me.  If  you  will  wait  until  Aunt 
Marie  comes  home,  I can  get  you  the  keys 
to-night.” 

She  looked  round  to  see  the  cause  of  the 
sudden  change  in  Mr.  Cavello’s  face. 

“ Hallo ! ” said  Uncle  Peter,  his  red  face 
appearing  over  a rock.  “ Changed  yer  mind 
about  goin’  out,  hev  n’t  yer?  ” 

Uncle  Peter’s  curiosity  had  been  too  much  for 
him.  He  thought  he  must  have  a look  at  that 
queer  chap  ” whom  he  had  seen  from  afar. 

“Found  better  company,  hev  yer?”  said  he, 
with  an  unrestrained  wink  at  Leslie. 

“ This  is  a friend  of  my  uncle’s,  from  the 
city,”  she  said.  “ I shall  have  to  wait  until  some 
other  day  for  the  sail,  unless,”  turning  eagerly 
to  Mr.  Cavello,  “ you  would  rather  sail  than 
drive.  It  is  so  lovely  on  the  water,  and  your 
horse  must  be  tired.” 

She  shrank  from  a tete-d-tcte  drive;  but  Mr. 
Cavello  did  not. 


13 


93 


The  Coloners  Opera  Cloak 

My  horse  will  be  refreshed  after  dinner,” 
he  said. 

“ Some  other  day,  then.  Uncle  Peter,”  said 
Leslie.  “ Don’t  forget  my  shells.” 

Mr.  Cavello  had  some  ideas  of  his  own  con- 
cerning himself  and  other  people.  He  thought 
he  was  a very  good-looking  man,  as,  indeed,  he 
was,  for  those  who  like  that  style.  Then  he 
thought  he  was  a “ great  catch,”  with  his  fine 
plantation  and  plenty  of  money;  and,  for  those 
who  care  for  such  things  above  all  others,  he 
certainly  was.  He  believed  any  woman  must  be 
urged  and  coaxed  and  almost  forced  into  saying 
“ Yes.”  Leslie  was  only  making  believe.  Why, 
he  was  very  good  to  want  to  marry  a girl  who 
had  not  a cent;  and  that  was  a very  pretty  and 
complimentary  speech  she  made  about  not  mar- 
rying for  money. 

And  so  Mr.  Cavello  felt  rather  comfortable, 
upon  the  whole. 

Leslie  hoped  he  would  forget  the  drive;  but 
he  ordered  the  horse  before  dinner,  and,  when 
they  came  out  from  the  dining-room,  the  carriage 
was  at  the  door. 

The  folded  cloak  and  the  parasol  lay  in  a chair 


194 


The  Colonel’s  Opera  Cloak 

on  the  piazza.  Mr.  Cavello  gave  them  to  Leslie, 
after  she  was  seated. 

She  talked  incessantly.  She  dreaded  a silence. 
Mr.  Cavello  exerted  himself  to  be  entertaining 
by  telling  her  about  Cuba  and  the  ways  of  living 
there,  until  Leslie  thought  Cuba  must  be  the 
third  heaven,  to  say  the  least.  But  she  did  not 
want  to  go  there,  if  it  was. 

While  Mr.  Cavello  described  his  plantation  in 
glowing  colors,  Leslie  was  wishing  this  was  the 
rainy  night  of  that  happy  drive,  and  that  Mr. 
Cavello  was  Tom. 

“ What  a sad  world  this  is ! ” thought  the  girl. 
“ Here  is  poor  Mr.  Cavello  liking  me ; and  I like 
Tom;  and  Tom  cares  for  nobody,  unless,  per- 
haps, for  Miss  Henderson.  If  Mr.  Cavello  had 
only  fallen  in  love  with  Gertrude,  who  is  fond 
of  fine  dresses  and  diamonds ! ” And  Leslie’s 
poor  little  brain  was  tired  with  trying  to  un- 
ravel the  mysteries  of  life,  as  have  been  many 
wiser  ones  before. 

She  looked  about  her  in  surprise.  “ Why, 
Mr.  Cavello,”  she  said,  “ I never  drove  through 
this  town.  What  is  it?  What  a long  drive  we 
must  have  taken!  It  is  four  by  that  church 
clock.” 


^95 


The  Coloners  Opera  Cloak 

“ I do  not  know  the  name  of  that  town,”  he 
replied,  “ but  I know  my  way.  Did  you  think 
I had  lost  it?” 

“Oh,  no;  only  I think  we  had  better  turn 
back.  Aunt  Marie  will  want  me  when  she  comes 
home:  Pomp  is  away,  you  know.” 

“ You  must  not  make  yourself  so  very  much 
to  people,”  said  Mr.  Cavello,  “ that  they  cannot 
do  without  you.” 

“ But  Aunt  Marie  has  always  been  waited  on,” 
said  Leslie. 

“ Well,  we  will  go  home  very  soon,”'  said  Mr. 
Cavello,  turning  into  another  road.  “ Remem- 
ber, this  is  my  latest  drive  with  you.” 

If  sacrifice  on  her  part  could  atone  for  rude- 
ness on  her  aunt’s,  she  felt  that  she  had  done 
her  duty  by  Mr.  Cavello. 

“ Why,  Mr.  Cavello,”  she  cried,  after  a time, 
“ what  are  we  coming  to?  You  have  lost  your 
way!  There  is  no  such  large  place  near  the 
hotel!  Why,  it  is  the  city,  isn’t  it?” 

“ Yes,”  said  Mr.  Cavello,  “ and  I have  brought 
you  here  on  purpose;  and,  my  dear  Miss  Leslie, 
I want  to  take  you  with  me  to  my  beautiful  home, 
away  from  this  cold  place.  You  are  young:  you 
do  not  know  about  love.  I will  teach  it  to  you. 

196 


The  Colonel’s  Opera  Cloak 

You  shall  be  my  queen,  and  I will  be  your  slave. 
You  say  nobody  does  care  for  you  here;  and 
why  do  you  stay?” 

He  spoke  with  warmth;  he  tried  to  take  her 
hand.  Leslie  caught  it  away,  and  pressed  against 
the  side  of  the  carriage.  She  was  very  much 
startled. 

“ I know,”  he  cried,  with  passion,  “ it  is  Mr. 
Douglas  you  love;  but  you  need  not.  He  will 
marry  the  handsome  young  lady.  I know  he 
will  marry  her.  And  she  hates  you  very  much. 
I saw,  I saw ! ” 

It  was  true:  Leslie  felt  it  in  her  soul.  It  was 
nothing  new  that  he  had  told  her.  Always, 
always,  always  she  had  known  it. 

“ I have  heard  in  the  city  that  he  marries  her 
soon,”  said  Mr.  Cavello,  improvising;  and  he 
added : — 

“ How  will  you  stay  here,  while  your  aunt 
does  not  want  you,  and  you  have  no  money? 
Oh,  come  with  me!  I know  a priest  here:  he 
is  my  great  friend.  We  will  go  there,  and  be 
married ; and  away  in  my  home  you  will  be  glad 
to  forget  this  bad  Mr.  Douglas,  who  has  tried 
to  make  you  love  him.  I will  fight  him,  if  you 
should  wish  me.” 


197 


The  Coloners  Opera  Cloak 

Leslie  tried  to  speak.  Her  voice  would  not 
come.  She  looked  entreatingly  at  him.  He 
would  not  understand : he  could  not.  He  thought 
she  was  considering:  of  course  she  would  con- 
sent, after  what  she  considered  the  proper  amount 
of  coquetting.  His  mind  reverted  to  the  num- 
berless mammas  who  had  tried  to  lasso  ” him, 
and  the  daughters  who  had  shot  arrows  by  the 
quiverful.  Surely,  this  poor  little  girl  could  not 
refuse  so  great  a chance. 

Wealth  was  not  happiness,  as  Mr.  Cavello 
knew;  but  that  poverty  and  dependence  meant 
unhappiness,  he  felt  very  sure,  and  he  was 
aware  that  this  girl  had  tasted  them  in  their 
bitterness. 

They  were  now  in  the  heart  of  the  city. 
People,  glancing  at  the  pretty  girl  and  the  dark 
Spaniard,  thought  them  lovers  on  a pleasure 
drive.  “ Well,  the  world  is  smooth  enough  for 
some  folks,”  they  sighed,  and  passed  on. 

“ Mr.  Cavello,”  said  Leslie,  “ do  not  say  any 
more  to  me.  You  must  let  me  get  out.  You 
surely  don’t  wish  to  marry  a girl  who  does  n’t 
love  you.” 

“ Yes,  I do,”  said  he,  passionately.  “ You  will 
like  me  by  and  by.” 


198 


The  Coloners  Opera  Cloak 

No,  I won’t!”  cried  Leslie.  “I  shall  hate 
you.” 

“ Well,  I cannot  make  you  to  marry  me,”  said 
Mr.  Cavello.  “ If  I could,  I would  do  it.  Your 
aunt,  she  told  me  to  marry  you.” 

Leslie’s  cheeks  flamed  up.  She  did  not  feel 
like  fainting  now. 

“ Oh ! ” she  cried,  striking  her  hands  together. 
“ Why  can’t  I work,  like  other  people,  and  take 
care  of  myself!  I must!  I will!  You  say  you 
are  my  friend,  but  it  is  not  true.  I am  not  your 
friend.  I never  want  to  see  you  again.  Stop 
your  horse ! Let  me  get  out ! I must  go  home ! ” 

“ But  listen  to  me,”  cried  Mr.  Cavello,  holding 
her  by  the  wrist:  for  Leslie  had  put  her  hands 
on  the  reins. 

Am  I not  a handsome  man?  Am  I not  a 
rich  man?  Am  I not  a young  man?  Do  I not 
love  you?  What  more  do  you  want,  in  this  long 
earth,  in  me?” 

Oh,  nothing,  nothing,”  returned  Leslie. 
“ I ’d  as  lief  you  were  homely  and  poor  and 
old.” 

“ You  would  like  me,  if  I was  homely  and 
poor  and  old.  Well,  I cannot  make  myself 
that,”  said  he,  even  to  please  you.  Miss  Leslie. 

199 


The  Colonel’s  Opera  Cloak 

You  are  a very  strange  young  lady.  Oh,  what 
can  I do  to  make  you  marry  me?  Tell  me  at 
once  that  you  will.  I am  not  in  my  way  to  beg 
young  ladies  to  marry  me.  They  do  all  wish  to 
do  it  without  it.” 

‘‘  Then  go  and  marry  them ! ” cried  Leslie,  now 
really  frightened.  “ Stop!  I must  get  out!  ” 
Pomp,  who  had  spent  his  day  in  the  city, 
searching  the  attic  for  things  which  he  finally 
found  in  the  kitchen,  and  the  parlor  for  things 
which  he  found  in  the  attic,  was  slowly  trudging 
along  toward  the  depot,  with  bundles  under  each 
arm,  when  he  saw  a little  boy  running  at  full 


speed  past  him,  swinging  at  arm’s  length  a blue 
cape  lined  with  red. 

Pomp  had  been  too  intimate  with  the  Colonel’s 
opera  cloak  not  to  know  it  when  he  met  it;  but 
how  in  the  world  had  it  got  to  the  city?  Pomp 


200 


The  Colonel’s  Opera  Cloak 

flew  after  the  boy,  crying,  ‘‘  Stop,  thief ! Stop, 
thief!  ” 

The  boy  turned  up  the  first  corner,  and  Pomp 
rushed  after  him.  The  street  was  blocked  by 
carriages  and  horse-cars.  Just  as  the  boy 
reached  the  crowd,  he  dashed  up  to  a buggy, 
and  Pomp  in  another  second  had  collared  him. 

“ Miss  Leslie,”  cried  Pomp,  looking  into  the 
carriage,  ‘‘ whar  did  yer  come  from?” 

“ O Pomp,”  cried  Leslie.  “ Take  me  home!  ” 

“ Let  me  go ! ” cried  the  boy,  shaking  himself 
out  of  Pomp's  unconscious  grip.  “ I saw  the 
lady  lose  the  cape  out  of  the  carriage.  'T  ain't 
yourn ! ” 

“ Oh,  thank  you ! Thank  you ! ” said  Leslie. 
She  had  no  money  to  give  the  boy. 

Mr.  Cavello  turned  the  horse's  head  suddenly, 
and  started  off  in  another  direction.  Pomp  in- 
stantly sprang  for  the  bridle,  and  clung  to  it 
with  both  arms,  his  legs  tucked  up  under  him 
in  a ludicrous  fashion. 

Mr.  Cavello  was  furious.  He  stood  up  and 
raised  his  whip  to  lash^  Pomp,  when  Leslie 
seized  his  arm  and  held  it. 

“ Lift  me  out.  Pomp ! ” she  cried,  and  sprang 
to  the  ground,  with  the  cape  in  her  hand,  leaving 


201 


The  Colonel’s  Opera  Cloak 

the  parasol  as  a souvenir  for  Mr.  Cavello.  It 
was  very  little,  but  it  was  something. 

There  was  nothing  more  for  Mr.  Cavello  to  do. 

Pomp  picked  up  his  scattered  bundles,  and 
Leslie  and  he  took  a horse-car  for  the  depot,  in 
as  quiet  and  commonplace  a way  as  if  nothing 
unusual  had  occurred. 

A train  had  just  gone,  and  there  was  a long 
half-hour  to  wait  for  the  next.  The  usual  old 
man  came  around  with  soap  to  sell,  and  the 
usual  old  woman  with  pins  and  tape ; people 
went  in  and  out,  and  met  their  friends ; an 
old  lady  was  left,  after  waiting  two  hours  for 
her  train;  and  an  old  gentleman  came  just  too 
late  for  his,  and  tried  to  get  the  ticket-office  to 
open  its  inexorable  window. 

Leslie  sat,  dazed  and  wretched.  What  was 
life  for?  What  was  the  use  of  living?  Was 
it  always  to  go  on  in  this  way?  Oh,  if  she 
could  only  go  away  from  them  all,  and  never 
see  them  again,  — just  she  and  poor  old  Pomp! 
He  was  her  only  friend.  If  Tom  cared  any 
thing  for  her,  why  didn’t  he  take  her  away? 
Alas,  he  would  never  care  about  her.  Had  n’t 
Mr.  Cavello  said  so,  and  her  aunt  too?  And 
was  n’t  her  heart  beating  “ never,  never,  never  ” ? 

202 


The  Colonel’s  Opera  Cloak 

While  Pomp  and  Leslie  were  waiting  in  the 
railway  station,  the  picnic  party  returned.  Mrs. 
St.  John  was  tired  and  cross.  The  clams,  ac- 
cording to  the  usual  custom,  had  been  either 
half-baked  or  burned,  and  the  corn  nearly  raw. 
Mrs.  Stevens’s  sister  had  flirted  shamefully  with 
Mr.  MacVickar. 

Mr.  MacVickar  himself  wore  a sort  of  dis- 
hevelled air.  He  had  grass-stains  on  his  light 
suit,  as  if  he  had  wrestled  too  roughly  with 
Nature.  But  the  oak-wreath  around  his  hat, 
and  the  corn-silk  in  his  button-hole,  gave  him 
the  look  of  a hard-pressed  conqueror.  It  seemed 
unfair  that  the  mild  clam  and  unoffending  maize 
should  have  given  him  the  Bacchanalian  look 
which  he  wore. 

The  young  ladies,  who  had  gone  out  with  be- 
witching, fluffy  crimps  over  their  foreheads,  had 
returned  with  little  wisp  brooms  instead,  — with- 
out the  handles,  of  course:  for  no  simile  is  to  be 
run  into  the  ground. 

“Where  is  Leslie?”  said  Mrs.  St.  John,  in  a 
cross  tone.  “ I should  think  Pomp  might  have 
got  home  by  this  time,  at  any  rate.  The  most 
stupid  day  I ever  knew  in  my  life!  Where  can 
Leslie  be'l  ” 


203 


The  Coloners  Opera  Cloak 

Mr.  Saunders  passed  her  as  she  spoke. 

“ Oh,  a gentleman,  a Spaniard,  I should  think 
— I ’ve  forgotten  his  name,  — called  to  see  you. 
He  dined  with  Miss  St.  John,  and  then  took  her 
to  ride.” 

“ Mr.  Cavello ! ” cried  Mrs.  St.  John,  in  amaze- 
ment. “ How  did  he  know  where  to  find  us ! 
When  will  they  come  back?” 

“ I presume  they  ’ll  be  back  to  tea,”  answered 
the  landlord. 

“ Oh,”  said  Mrs.  St.  John,  turning  to  the 
ladies,  her  spirits  rising.  “ You  should  see  Mr. 
Cavello!  He  is  an  immensely  wealthy  Cuban. 
Leslie’s  money  is  nothing  compared  to  his.  He 
would  call  her  poor. 

“ The  way  that  man  haunted  our  house ! I 
was  afraid  he  and  Mr.  Douglas,  who  was  here 
at  the  hop,  would  have  a duel.  I shall  be  thank- 
ful when  that  girl  is  once  off  my  hands.  Leslie’s 
lovers  are  too  much  for  one  poor  woman  to  look 
after. 

“ If  Leslie  and  Mr.  Cavello  arrange  it  this 
afternoon,  there  will  be  another  diamond  wed- 
ding. ‘ Signorina  Fernando  Cavello,  nee  St. 
John,’  or  whatever  means  ‘ born  ’ in  Spanish, 
would  n’t  be  bad  on  a card,  would  it  ? ” said  Mrs. 


204 


The  Coloners  Opera  Cloak 

St.  John,  looking  triumphantly  around  upon  the 
group  of  ladies. 

“ There  ar’n’t  many  girls,”  she  went  on,  “ who 
would  n’t  have  snapped  such  a catch  up  before ; 
but  she  is  so  young  and  so  attractive  that  she 
can  afford  to  take  time.  She  does  n't  have  to 
swallow  them  whole.”  And  here  Mrs.  St.  John 
smiled  sweetly  and  significantly  on  Mrs.  Ste- 
vens’s sister,  who  was  by  no  means  in  her  first 
youth. 

The  ladies,  who  had  meant  to  sup  in  their  pic- 
nic array,  now  decided  to  change  their  dresses, 
and  were  quite  excited  as  they  recrimped  their 
hair  by  feeble  candles.  Mrs.  Stevens’s  sister  gave 
it  up,  and  donned  a jockey  hat  and  a gay  sack. 

As  soon  as  the  tea-bell  sounded,  everybody 
hurried  downstairs.  They  hardly  dared  to  go 
to  the  table,  for  fear  of  missing  the  grand  ar- 
rival; for,  as  this  was  the  middle  of  the  week, 
excitements  were  rare. 

At  last  they  went  in,  and  watched,  between 
mouthfuls,  for  Leslie  and  her  gay  lover. 

“ Dear  me,”  said  Mrs.  St.  John,  “ I am  really 
getting  anxious.  I hope  Mr.  Cavello  will  not 
lose  his  way.  I must  order  a hot  supper  kept 
for  them.” 


205 


The  Colonel’s  Opera  Cloak 

After  tea,  the  ladies  repaired  to  the  piazza. 
They  were  too  tired  to  talk.  They  listened  to 
the  crickets,  who,  never  weary,  except  of  silence, 
were  chirping  a quick  reveille.  The  plash  of  the 
waves  softened  the  sharp  sound. 

The  light  was  beginning  to  fade,  when,  far 
down  the  road,  appeared  two  figures,  walking. 
Mrs.  Stevens  put  up  her  eye-glasses.  The  people 
drew  nearer. 

“That  looks  like  your  niece,  Mrs.  St.  John; 
but  of  course  it  can’t  be,  — on  foot.” 

“ Hallo!  ” cried  little  Clarence,  who  was  walk- 
ing on  the  piazza  railing : “ there  ’s  Pomp  and 
Leslie.” 

“ It  is  no  such  thing,  sir,”  said  his  mother. 
“Go  to  bed  this  moment.  It  must  be  Mr.  Ca- 
vello.  They  have  had  an  accident,  I am  sure.” 

Long  seconds  of  waiting  followed. 

Mrs.  Stevens  put  up  her  glasses  again. 

“It  is  your  niece  and  your  servant,”  she  said. 
“ I am  afraid  something  has  happened.  But 
don't  be  anxious,  Mrs.  St.  John.  Miss  Leslie 
is  safe:  she  will  explain  all  to  us.” 

Pomp  came  up  the  side  steps  wearily,  his  arms 
full  of  bundles.  Leslie’s  face  was  pale,  and  the 
traces  of  tears  were  about  her  eyes. 

206 


The  Coloners  Opera  Cloak 

“What  is  the  matter?”  exclaimed  Mrs.  St. 
John.  “Is  Mr.  Cavello  killed?  Tell  me  at 
once.” 

“ Nobody  is  hurt,  Aunt  Marie,”  said  Leslie, 
in  a strained  voice.  “ Will  you  come  to  your 
room,  please?” 

“ Well,”  said  the  ladies  to  each  other,  “ there 
is  something  very  queer  here,  — going  on  a 
drive,  and  walking  home.  If  she  refused  the 
man,  he  might  at  least  have  brought  her  back. 
She  must  have  expected  him  to-day:  you  know 
she  did  not  want  to  go  with  us.  And  she  came 
from  the  depot,  too.  There  is  something  under 
all  this,  you  may  be  sure.” 

Mrs.  Stevens  put  up  her  eye-glasses  and 
looked  quizzically  at  the  ladies’  toilettes.  A 
little  laugh  went  round  the  circle.  They  had 
dressed,  weary  as  they  were,  and  had  hurried 
through  tea,  for  the  pleasure  of  seeing  Leslie 
St.  John  and  old  Pomp  walk  up  the  road. 

One  of  the  young  ladies  burst  into  a merry 
laugh,  and  it  jarred  on  Mrs.  St.  John’s  ears  as 
it  floated  in  at  her  window. 

“ Well,  Leslie,”  said  she,  sitting  bolt  upright 
on  the  hardest  chair  in  the  room,  “ what  does 
this  mean  ? Here  I ’ve  ordered  a hot  supper 
207 


The  Coloners  Opera  Cloak 

for  you  and  Mr.  Cavello;  and  there  we  were 
sitting,  waiting  to  see  you  drive  up  in  fine  style, 
and,  lo  and  behold,  you  come  trudging  along 
the  country  road  with  an  old  nigger.  I don’t 
wonder  the  ladies  are  laughing.  Spiteful 
things ! ” 

“ O Aunt  Marie,”  said  Leslie,  trembling  so 
that  she  could  not  stand,  “ I ’ll  tell  you  all  about 
it.”  And  she  recounted  the  day’s  adventure, 
assisted  in  the  last  part  by  Pomp,  who  was  un- 
dressing Clarence  in  the  next  room. 

‘‘  If  it  had  n’t  been  for  Pomp,’’  said  Leslie,  “ I 
don’t  know  what  I should  have  done.” 

“ No,  she  would  n’t,”  cried  Pomp.  “ When  I 
see  de  Colonel’s  op’ra  cloak  rushin’  froo  de 
street,  I fought  de  end  ob  de  world  am  come. 
I called  out  to  him,  an’  I run  after  him  tell  I 
ketched  him.  Ef  it  hed  n’t  ben  for  dat  op’ra 
cloak,  I ’specs  by  dis  time  Miss  Leslie  would 
hev  ” — 

“ Be  still.  Pomp ! ” said  Mrs.  St.  John. 

“ I was  so  frightened,”  continued  Leslie,  “ I 
did  n’t  know  where  we  were.” 

“ Yer  didn’t?”  said  Pomp,  amazed.  “Why, 
yer  was  in  de  city!  Whar  did  yer  think  yer 
was?  ” 


208 


The  Colonel’s  Opera  Cloak 

“ I did  n’t  know  what  part  of  the  city  we 
were  in ; and  oh ! he  was  so  determined  to 
make  me  go  to  a priest’s  with  him,  and  get 
married/' 

. “ Well,  for  my  life,  I cannot  see  any  thing  so 
wonderful  in  this.  A gentleman  asks  you  to 
drive,  and  offers  himself.  I 'm  sure  that  was 
very  honorable  in  him,”  said  Mrs.  St.  John, 
sharply.  “ There  are  very  few  rich,  fashion- 
able young  men  who  want  to  marry  a poor  girl 
without  a cent  to  her  name.  I should  think 
you  were  old  enough  to  know  how  pleased  your 
uncle  would  have  been.  I don’t  see  how  you 
could  have  refused  such  a chance.” 

“ I wish  I had  married  him,  and  then  thrown 
myself  into  the  sea,”  cried  Leslie,  with  a flood  of 
tears. 

“ Rather  late  in  the  day  to  repent  now,”  said 
Mrs.  St.  John,  sighing.  “ I ’m  sure  I am  only 
thinking  of  your  prospects,  Leslie.  Well,  it 
can’t  be  helped  now.  I only  wish  Mr.  Douglas 
was  as  anxious  to  get  you.  You  would  n’t  jump 
into  the  sea  then,  I reckon.” 

Leslie  slipped  away  to  her  room,  and  cried 
herself  to  sleep. 

Mrs.  St.  John  was  very  much  displeased  with 
14  209 


The  ColoneFs  Opera  Cloak 

Pomp : she  would  n’t  let  him  unlace  her  boots 
that  night. 

“ I just  wish/’  said  she,  “ you  would  mind 
your  own  affairs.  What  business  of  yours  was 
it,  if  Miss  Leslie  married  Mr.  Cavello?” 

It  wa’n’t  my  besiness  ef 


stoutly.  “ Dis  ain’t 
no  way,  — to  hev  her  driv’  into  gittin’  married. 
Yer  done  suited  yerself.  Miss  Marie,  ef  yer 
did  n’t  please  ole  Massa.” 

“ O Pomp ! I should  think  you  would  be 
ashamed  to  speak  so  to  your  poor,  sick  mis- 
tress. The  Colonel  is  away  amusing  himself, 
and  I am  left  in  poverty,  with  these  boys  and 
a niece  all  on  my  hands.”  And  Mrs.  St.  John 


210 


The  Colonel’s  Opera  Cloak 

put  on  an  injured  air,  and  wiped  her  eyes,  and 
sighed. 

“Oh,  come,  come!”  said  Pomp,  cheerfully: 
“ dis  is  n’t  no  way  to  go  on.  Yer ’s  got  free 
beaucherful  boys,  an’  Miss  Leslie;  an’  yer ’s 
young  an’  harnsome,  an’  de  Colonel  tinks  dere 
ain’t  nobody  else  in  de  world  only  you.  Don’t 
tink  no  more  ’bout  Mr.  Cavello.  He  wa’n’t  de  one 
for  Miss  Leslie.  I’se  set  Massa  Tom  off  for  her.” 
“ Oh,  yes ! ” said  Mrs.  St.  John,  despondently. 
“ You  can  set  him  off,  to  the  end  of  time ; but  I 
don’t  believe  he  wants  to  marry  her.” 

“ I know  he  does,”  said  Pomp,  confidently. 

“ How  do  you  know?  ” inquired  Mrs.  St.  John. 
“ I know  by  de  way  he  looks  at  her  an’  acts 
wid  her.” 

“ How  does  he  look  and  act  with  her.  Pomp?  ” 
“ Wall,  he  looks  at  her  kind  o’  steddy-like,  an’ 
den  he  looks  at  oder  folks  like  as  ef  he ’d  say, 

‘ Who  yer,  roun’  here,  makin’  b’lieve  yer  ’r  harn- 
some, ’cause  yer  got  eyes  an’  nose  an’  mouf? 
Nobody  ain’t  wuth  lookin’  at  ’cept  jes  Miss 
Leslie.’  An’  when  she  says  suthin’,  ef ’t  ain’t  no 
more  dan,  ‘ Whar ’s  my  par’sol  ? ’ or  ‘ Pass  me 
de  butter,’  he  looks  mighty  pleased,  ’s  ef  she 
was  de  fust  ’oman  dat  ever  spoke  a word,  an’ 


The  Colonel’s  Opera  Cloak 

he  looks  roun’  to  see  ef  ev’body  ain’t  list’nin’ 
an’  a’mirin’  of  her.  Oh,  yer  see  if  Massa  Tom 
ain’t  down  here  putty  soon  after  her ! ” 

After  a time,  Mrs.  St.  John  allowed  herself 
to  be  comforted,  and  went  to  sleep,  feeling  that 
she  had  done  all  that  could  be  expected  of  her 
towards  righting  the  wrongs  of  life. 

Leslie  had  such  a headache  that  she  did  not 
get  up  to  breakfast. 

Mrs.  St.  John  had  determined  to  put  the  best 
face  on  affairs;  and  so  she  dressed  herself  care- 
fully, and  with  a cheerful  smile  went  down  to 
the  dining-room. 

She  was  not  going  to  have  these  Yankees 
think  that  Leslie  had  been  jilted;  but  she  had 
not  decided  whether  to  say  that  Leslie  had  run 
off  with  Mr.  Cavello  and  been  dragged  back 
by  Pomp,  or  that  Mr.  Cavello  had  carried  her  off 
against  her  will,  and  Pomp  had  rescued  her; 
whether  to  represent  her  as  forsaking  the  love 
of  a splendid  young  fellow  without  money  for 
a world-worn  man  who  had  unlimited  wealth, 
or  to  give  her  the  character  of  a young  and 
inexperienced  girl,  who  had  thrown  away  a 
wonderful  chance  for  the  romance  of  love  and 
poverty. 


212 


The  Colonel’s  Opera  Cloak 

Before  she  had  fairly  made  up  her  mind  what 
to  say,  Mrs.  Stevens,  whose  delicacy  never  over- 
balanced her  curiosity,  drew  her  chair  up  close 
to  Mrs.  St.  John,  and  asked  how  Miss  Leslie 
was,  and  said  that  they  were  all  so  fond  of 
her  that  they  hoped  nothing  unpleasant  had 
occurred. 

“ Oh,  no ! ” said  Mrs.  St.  John.  ‘‘  It  was  only 
that  old  fool  of  a Pomp,  who  made  a great  fuss 
out  of  nothing.”  Then  she  went  on  to  explain, 
with  a fine,  easy  flow  of  improvisation,  that  Mr. 
Cavello,  having  heard  of  Mr.  Douglas’s  visit, 
had  become  very  jealous.  So,  after  inviting 
Leslie  to  drive,  he  had  gone  on  until  he  reached 
the  city,  and  had  tried  to  induce  her  to  be  mar- 
ried that  day,  so  as  to  secure  her.  But  Leslie, 
of  course,  like  all  girls,  wanted  a trousseau  and 
a grand  wedding,  and  had  not  fairly  made  up 
her  mind  what  to  do,  when  Pomp  stumbled  upon 
the  party,  and  urged  Leslie  to  come  home,  and 
made  a sad  picture  of  how  her  aunt  would  feel, 
and  what  her  uncle  would  say,  until  he  finally 
persuaded  her  to  come  back  with  him;  and  of 
course  Mr.  Cavello  was  very  angry,  and  told 
Leslie  to  choose,  once  for  all. 

“ If  she  is  going  to  marry  him  at  all,  I ’m  sure 
213 


The  Colonel’s  Opera  Cloak 

I wish  she  had  done  so  yesterday,  — if  they 
wanted  to  be  romantic.  It  would  have  saved 
me  a world  of  trouble.  We  shall  have  another 
scene  in  a day  or  two,  when  Mr.  Cavello  gets 
over  his  pique.  I hope  he  and  Mr.  Douglas 
won't  meet  in  the  mean  time. 

Poor  old  Pomp  thinks  every  one  in  the 
family  belongs  to  him ; and  he  meddles  and 
interferes,  till  I often  wish  he  had  run  off 
with  the  others;  but  he  camt  be  sent  off,  of 
course.” 

Leslie  became  quite  a sensation.  The  young 
ladies  looked  at  her  with  admiration.  How 
elegant  to  be  ,run  away  with,  like  a girl  in  a 
novel ! 

“ I always  supposed,”  remarked  Miss  Mer- 
riam,  “ that  when  people  ran  away  they  had 
post-horses  and  a postilion  in  bottle-green  livery, 
with  pistols,  and  that  the  young  lady’s  head 
was  forever  out  of  the  window  to  see  if  her 
papa  was  after  them,  and  that  a big  brother  was 
invariably  in  hot  pursuit.  I never  dreamed  that 
one  could  be  so  romantic  with  a stable-horse  and 
a buggy,  and  one  old  black  man.” 

The  next  two  days  passed,  without  a word 
from  Mr.  Cavello.  Mrs.  St.  John  was  vexed. 

214 


The  Coloners  Opera  Cloak 

It  looked  as  if  he  was  going  to  drop  the 
affair. 

The  third  day  brought  a letter  from  the 
Colonel.  Mrs.  St.  John  read  it  on  the  piazza, 
and,  looking  at  Leslie,  said,  — 

“ I ’ll  see  you,  for  a moment,  in  my  room. 
Here  is  something  about  you,  my  young  lady.” 
Of  course  they  all  thought  Mr.  Cavello  was 
trying  to  make  up  with  the  injured  aunt. 

“ Well,”  said  Mrs.  St.  John,  rejoining  the 
group  of  ladies  on  the  piazza,  “ do  pity  me. 
Leslie  is  so  changeable  that  I can’t  do  any 
thing.  I never  saw  anybody  so  set,  as  they 
say  here.  I sha’n’t  say  a word  more.  They 
may  settle  it  for  themselves.” 


215 


X 


A WET  spell  ” had  come,  as  Uncle  Peter 
said.  It  rained,  day  after  day. 

Mrs.  St.  John  was  indignant. 

This  was  pretty  weather  for  the  sea-shore! 
She  had  no  thick  dresses;  and  so  she  stayed  in 
bed,  with  the  Colonel’s  opera  cloak  about  her. 

Leslie  had  enough  to  do  to  amuse  the  boys. 
She  kept  them  in  the  bowling-alley  as  much  as 
she  could. 

One  day  a letter  came  from  the  Colonel.  He 
had  some  fine  project  in  hand,  and  wanted  them 
all  to  come  to  him. 

Mrs.  St.  John  sent  for  the  landlord,  and  rep- 
rimanded him  severely  for  bringing  her  there 
under  false  pretences. 

“ It ’s  just  like  the  middle  of  winter.  You 
live  here  every  year,  and  of  course  you  knew 
about  it.  I should  n’t  feel  legally  obliged  to  pay 
216 


The  Coloners  Opera  Cloak 

you  a cent  for  the  time  I have  been  here,  for 
I came  for  the  warm  sun  and  for  pleasant  sea 
air;  but  make  out  your  bill,  and  I’ll  pay  it  at 
once.  I must  go  back  to  town  to-day,  or  I shall 
be  dead  to-morrow.” 

So  Pomp  and  Leslie  packed  the  trunks.  Poor 
Leslie ! Her  “ next  time  ” was  never  to  be  here 
by  the  beautiful  sea,  nor  on  these  lovely  country 
roads. 

They  were  ready  for  the  noon  train.  The 
landlord  was  very  rude.  He  said  that  they  had 
engaged  for  the  summer,  and  were  bound  to 
pay  for  it ; but  Mrs.  St.  John  said,  ‘‘  Yes,  for 
summer,  not  for  winter.”  She  expected  that  he 
would  have  sleighing  before  long,  if  he  kept  on 
at  this  rate. 

The  poor  man  almost  thought  himself  the 
clerk  of  the  weather,  before  she  left. 

Pomp  had  gone  in  an  earlier  train,  to  open 
the  house;  and  Leslie,  who  was  the  guide,  mis- 
took the  time,  and  they  had  to  wait  an  hour  at 
the  station. 

Leslie  never  forgot  that  hour.  She  almost 
thought,  from  her  aunt’s  severe  remarks,  that 
she  had  made  it,  and  tacked  it  on  to  the  usual 
twenty-four. 


217 


The  Coloners  Opera  Cloak 

At  last,  at  dark,  in  a pouring  rain,  they  reached 
the  house. 

Pomp  had  made  a fire  in  the  furnace.  Mrs. 
St.  John’s  spirits  rose  as  she  grew  warm. 

“ We  may  as  well  go  to  the  Colonel  at  once,’’ 
she  said.  “ We  could  start  to-morrow,  if  it 
was  n’t  for  our  things  here.  What  shall  we  do 
with  them?  We  shall  have  to  auction  them  off, 
I think.  I 'm  sure  we  have  paid  this  landlord 
enough,  without  giving  him  the  things  we  have 
bought  ourselves.  But  I am  afraid  it  will  be  a 
heap  of  trouble  to  have  an  auction.” 

“ Oh,  no,  it  won’t,”  said  Pomp.  “ It  is  n’t 
never  no  trouble  to  sell  tings : it ’s  trouble  to  buy 
’em.  Why,  ef  yer  buy,  yer  has  to  go  out,  an’ 
yer  has  to  spend  yer  money;  but,  in  sellin’,  yer 
jes  stays  in  de  house,  an’  gits  money  fur  tings 
yer  does  n’t  want  an’  can’t  kerry  off  wid  yer, 
nohow.” 

‘‘  But  every  thing  is  a trouble,”  returned  Mrs. 
St.  John.  “ If  it  was  n’t  for  the  heat  it  would 
make  in  the  house,  I ’d  burn  all  our  things  up, 
to  save  the  trouble  of  selling  them.” 

Yer  could  n’t  burn  de  piano  up,”  said  Pomp. 
“ Yer  could  n’t  git  it  into  de  furnace.” 

“ What  an  old  fool  you  are ! ” said  Mrs.  St. 


218 


The  Colonel’s  Opera  Cloak 

John.  “ Let  us  look  over  the  things,  Leslie,  and 
make  a list.  Here ’s  the  piano,  and  that  red 
velvet  chair,  and  those  vases,  and  ” — 

“ And  the  towel-rack,  and  the  foot-rest,  and 
the  slipper-case  I bought  at  the  church  fair,” 
added  Leslie. 

“Yes;  and  the  gilt  shaving-stand  the  Colonel 
bought,  the  last  time  he  came  on. 

“I  suppose,”  she  added,  turning  to  Pomp, 
“ that  there  are  heaps  of  broken  things.” 
“Yes,  missus;  but  all  on  ’em  ain’t  ourn. 
We  ’ve  broke  a good  many  of  de  Ian’ lord’s.  We 
ain’t  no  right  to  sell  dem,  hev  we?” 

“ We  ’ll  put  all  our  broken  things  into  barrels, 
and  get  rid  of  them  in  that  way,”  said  Mrs.  St. 
John. 

“ De  barrels  is  all  done  broke  dereselfs,” 
replied  Pomp. 

“ Well,  trunks,  then,”  said  Mrs.  St.  John. 
“ Don’t  pick  me  up  so.  Pomp ! ” 

“ De  trunks ! Massy  gracious ! ” cried  Pomp. 
“ Yer  does  n’t  want  to  sell  yer  trunks,  full  o’ 
broken  traps,  and  kerry  yer  clo’es  Souf  in  yer 
ban’s,  does  yer?” 

“ We  shall  have  some  on  us,”  said  Mrs.  St. 
John,  with  dignity.  “ Very  few  people  travel 
219 


The  Coloners  Opera  Cloak 

without  clothes  in  this  country,  if  they  do  in 
yours. 

“ But  if  you  won’t  use  trunks,”  she  added, 
“ tie  the  things  up  in  sheets.” 

“ De  sheets  ain’t  ourn : dey  b’longs  to  de 

house.  Dey  would  n’t  hold  much,  any  way.  De 
boys  hes  used  ’em  so  much  fur  tents,  an’  hes 
wrastled  so  in  bed,  an’  fired  de  pillers  roun’  so 
free,  dat  de  cases  is  — well,  yer  kin  git  in  mos’ 
anywhar,  an’  out  mos’  anywhar  too;  an’  de  fed- 
ders  flies  out  o’  dem  pillers  like  as  ef  yer  was 
shakin’  a chicken.  Ef  I was  yer.  Miss  Marie, 
I ’d  leave  dem  broke  tings  fur  de  Ian’ lord  to 
cl’ar  up.” 

“ So  I will.  Horrid  old  thing ! It  would 
serve  him  just  right,”  said  Mrs.  St.  John. 

“ Now  look  at  that  ceiling,  Leslie,”  she  added : 
“did  you  ever  see  any  thing  like  it?” 

“ The  boys  did  that,”  said  Leslie. 

“ Well,”  said  Mrs.  St.  John,  “ they  learned  to 
make  them  here.  I ’m  sure  I never  heard  of  a 
‘ spit-ball  ’ until  I came  North.  What  a house 
this  was  to  let  to  a gentleman’s  family!  We 
have  paid  rent  enough  for  it.  Just  look  at  that 
spot  on  the  sofa.  Ugh!  it  is  sticky.” 

“ I reckon  that  was  some  of  our  medicine. 


220 


The  Colonel’s  Opera  Cloak 

that  we ’ve  had  round.  That  is  n’t  any  thing,” 
said  Clarence. 

“ And  those  lace  curtains ! What  a color ! 
The  landlord  will  do  those  up  before  he  lets  the 
house  again,  if  he  has  any  kind  of  decency,  — 
which  I should  n’t  judge  he  had,”  said  Mrs.  St. 
John. 

“ They  were  fresh  when  we  came,”  said  Leslie. 

‘‘Of  course  they  were : he  could  n’t  expect  to 
let  a house  with  soiled  curtains,  could  he?” 

“ I reckon  de  piano  ’ll  fotch  a heap,”  said 
Pomp,  who  had  been  attentively  listening  to  the 
conversation.  “We  ought  to  ’tend  to  de  auction 
tings  now.” 

“ You  must  rub  up  the  piano.  Pomp,”  said 
Leslie.  “ You  know  Clarence  and  Wilfrid  used 
to  spring  on  it  dreadfully,  when  they  ran  round 
the  parlor  over  all  the  furniture.” 

“ I wonder  you  would  allow  them  to  act  so, 
Leslie,”  said  Mrs.  St.  John.  “ I should  no  more 
think  of  jumping  on  a piano  than  on  a looking- 
glass.” 

“ I danced  a clog-dance  on  it  one  night,”  said 
Clarence ; “ and  we  put  paper  inside  of  it,  and 
Arthur  thumped  on  the  keys  like  a banjo.  Oh, 
it  was  awful  funny  music!” 


22 


The  Coloners  Opera  Cloak 

Pomp  examined  the  piano  critically. 

“ Some  parts  shows  de  boot-heels,  but  it 
ain’t  so  bad  as  it  mought  be,”  said  he,  — 
it  took  a great  deal  to  surprise  Pomp,  — “I 
thinks  a little  grease  would  put  it  in  putty  good 
shape.” 

“ All  the  keys  don’t  go,”  said  Clarence. 

There 's  a pin  in  one.  I can  see  it.” 

“ You  can  shut  it  down,  for  the  auction,”  said 
his  mother.  “ Oh,  no,  you  can’t,  either.  I ’ll 
wager  a good  bit  they  ’ll  want  to  hear  the  tone : 
it  would  be  just  like  these  Yankees.  That  chair 
is  all  right,  isn't  it?” 

“ Yes,”  said  Leslie.  “ The  springs  are  good, 
— only,  aunty,  I think  there  are  moths  in  it.” 

“ Very  likely.  It  was  bought  North,”  said 
Mrs.  St.  John.  “ I would  n’t  trust  a Northerner 
while  I turned  my  head  round.  It  was  bought 
with  moths  in  it,  if  they  are  there.  We  can’t 
sell  a chair  better  than  we  buy  it,  of  course. 

“ You  can  pin  a tidy  over  that  stained  place 
on  the  back,  Leslie,  and  it  can  go  with  the 
chair. 

‘‘  We  must  put  a high  price  on  every  thing,” 
she  continued,  “ because  I ’ve  always  heard  that 
people  insist  on  beating  down,  at  auctions.” 


222 


The  Colonel’s  Opera  Cloak 

“Who’s  going  to  say,  ‘Going,  going,  gone’?” 
asked  Clarence. 

“ I s’pose  I is,”  said  Pomp.  “ I does  ’mos’ 
ev’ry  ting.” 

“ No,”  said  Mrs.  St.  John,  “ I shall  send  for 
a man  who  makes  a business  of  it.  If  I am 
going  to  have  an  auction,  I ’ll  have  one.” 

Pomp  went  at  once  to  the  grocer,  who  directed 
him  to  an  auctioneer. 

The  man  came  to  look  over  the  house,  and 
was  surprised  to  see  how  little  was  to  be  sold; 
but  that  was  none  of  his  business.  He* said  he 
would  set  the  day,  and  then  advertise  it  a few 
times. 

“Advertise  it!”  exclaimed  Mrs.  St.  John. 
“ What  in  the  world  would  you  advertise  it 
for?  You  don’t  suppose  people  are  coming  here 
from  the  four  corners  of  the  earth,  to  buy  a few* 
old  things,  do  you?  Besides,  I am  going  away 
day  after  to-morrow.  I ’ll  have  the  auction  to- 
morrow. You’ve  got  a flag,  haven’t  you?  I 
never  heard  of  an  auctioneer  who  had  not. 

“ But  be  sure,”  she  called  after  him,  “ not  to 
put  up  a small-pox  flag,  and  make  the  people 
afraid  to  come  in.” 

When  the  flag  was  flung  to  the  breeze,  Mrs. 


223 


The  Coloners  Opera  Cloak 

St.  John  seated  herself  at  a front  window,  to 
inspect  the  people  who  came  up  the  steps. 

When  any  one  appeared  whose  looks  did  not 
please  her,  she  called  to  Pomp  not  to  let  him  in, 
or  to  tell  him  it  was  n’t  time,  and  that  he  would 
better  come  back  day  after  to-morrow;  adding, 
in  a low  tone,  “ when  we  shall  be  all  cleared  up 
and  gone.” 

Before  the  auction  began,  Mrs.  St.  John  and 
Leslie  seated  themselves  in  the  back  parlor, 
where  they  could  see  what  was  going  on,  through 
a crack  between  the  sliding-doors. 

Pomp  stayed  in  the  front  parlor,  where  the 
auction  was  to  take  place,  to  keep  an  eye  on 
things,  and  see  that  the  auctioneer  did  his  duty. 

Several  of  the  neighbors,  to  whom  the  St. 
Johns  had  afforded  a great  deal  of  excitement, 
and  who  knew  that  the  house  had  been  let  fur- 
nished, came  in  to  look  on. 

About  thirty  people  had  assembled  in  the  hall 
and  parlor  at  the  appointed  hour. 

“ Pomp!  Pomp!  ” called  Mrs.  St.  John.  Pomp 
went  to  the  crack,  and  looked  in  with  one  eye. 

“ I don’t  like  the  looks  of  those  men  over 
there,”  said  the  lady,  in  a loud  whisper,  loud 
enough  to  be  heard  by  those  standing  near. 


224 


The  Colonel’s  Opera  Cloak 

“ You  must  keep  a sharp  eye  on  them.  They 
look  like  Jews.  We  ought  to  have  had  a police- 
man here,  to  watch.” 

The  people  looked  at  each  other,  and  felt  like 
pickpockets. 

The  auctioneer’s  voice  broke  the  silence. 

“ The  first  thing  offered  for  sale  in  this  elegant 
house  is  a superb  piano,  for  which  seven  hun- 
dred and  fifty  dollars  was  paid,  six  short  months 
ago.” 

“ What  a whopper!  ” said  Clarence.  “ It  only 
cost  three  hundred,  — the  legs  were  so  scratched 
up.” 

“ The  lady  assures  me  that  seven  hundred  and 
fifty  dollars  was  its  price,”  said  the  man,  looking 
threateningly  at  the  impudent  boy  who  was  try- 
ing to  ruin  his  sale. 

Leslie  glanced  inquiringly  at  her  aunt. 

‘‘  The  man  said  it  was  marked  at  that  price, 
and  was  worth  it,  — only  he  let  me  have  it 
cheap,”  said  Mrs.  St.  John,  in  answer  to  her 
look. 

“Clarence!”  she  called.  “Come  into  this 
room,  this  moment.” 

Every  one  turned  toward  the  back  parlor. 

“ The  tone  is  equal  to  that  of  a Steinway,” 
15  225 


The  Colonel’s  Opera  Cloak 

continued  the  auctioneer.  “ I might  play  ‘ Green- 
ville ’ myself,  but  I suppose  some  one  here  can 
display  it  to  better  advantage.” 

No  one  stirred ; and  so  he  ran  his  fingers  over 
the  keys,  and  soon  knocked  off  the  instrument  for 
one  hundred  and  fifty  dollars,  — “ Which  was 
enough  for  the  old  thing,”  Mrs.  St.  John  said. 

“ Well,  here  is  a clock.  Who  will  bid  on  this? 
It  is  an  elegant  French  clock,  — runs  a week.” 

“ It  runs  two,  if  you  run  with  it,”  said  Wil- 
frid : and  he  and  Arthur  laughed. 

“ Did  we  buy  that,  or  does  it  belong  to  the 
house?”  whispered  Mrs.  St.  John  to  Leslie. 

“ To  the  house,  I think,”  she  replied.  “ I 

was  n't  here  at  the  first,  you  know.” 

“ I ’ll  give  you  five  dollars,”  said  a man. 

“ Five-fifty,”  said  another. 

“ Six  dollars.” 

Mrs.  St.  John  beckoned  to  Pomp. 

“ Nobody  can’t  buy  dat,”  Pomp  called  out, 
in  a loud  voice,  “ ’cause  it  does  n’t  b’long  to  us. 
We  forgot.  Dat ’s  de  lan’lord’s  clock.” 

Every  one  laughed. 

“ Well,  here,”  said  the  man,  “ is  a towel-rack, 
not  owned  by  the  landlord,  and  worked  by  fair 
fingers,  doubtless.  Some  young  bachelor  would 
226 


The  Coloners  Opera  Cloak 

find  this  priceless.  Five  dollars  it  is  marked. 
It  is  a bunch  of  white  lilies  worked  on  a back- 
ground of  — of  — blue.'’ 

“ Gas-light  green,”  said  a young  lady  near 
him. 

On  a background  of  gas-light  green,”  he 
repeated.  “ It  is  useful  as  well  as  ornamental, 
and  worth  double  its  price.” 

“ I only  paid  three  for  it,”  whispered  Leslie. 

“ I knew  they  would  beat  him  down,  and  so  I 
marked  it  five,”  replied  her  aunt,  with  a business- 
like air. 

One  dollar,”  called  a voice  from  the  hall. 

“ What  a mean  man!  ” said  Mrs.  St.  John,  in 
a loud  whisper,  which  was  heard  in  the  front 
parlor. 

‘‘  One  dollar  twenty-five,  — one-fifty,  — two 
dollars.” 

“ Gone,  — at  two  dollars  1 ” 

“ Stingy  enough,  I am  sure,”  said  Mrs.  St. 
John,  half-aloud. 

“ This  red  velvet  chair  is  in  good  condition. 
Springs  in  order.  Tidy  goes  with  it,  and  gives 
it  a feminine  and  homelike  air.  As  the  poet 
asks,  — 

‘ What ’s  a chair  without  a tidy  ? ’ ” 

227 


The  Coloners  Opera  Cloak 

It ’s  a chair,”  giggled  Wilfrid’s  voice  from 
behind  the  door. 

The  people  looked  at  each  other,  and  laughed. 
They  had  never  attended  such  a sale  before. 
The  auctioneer  was  amused,  too:  it  seemed  like 
playing  at  auction. 

At  length,  after  various  bids,  the  chair  was 
sold. 

A vase  was  just  being  carried  off,  when  Mrs. 
St.  John  remembered  that  that  was  n’t  hers. 

“ The  pink  pair  are  mine,  — on  the  mantel- 
piece,” she  called,  through  the  crack. 

The  woman  who  had  bought  the  large  vase 
was  very  angry. 

“ Why  do  you  have  an  auction,”  she  asked, 
“if  you  haven’t  any  thing  to  sell?” 

“ We  have,”  replied  Mrs.  St.  John,  through 
the  crack. 

“ Why  don’t  you  sell  it,  then,  and  know  your 
own  mind?” 

“ Why  don’t  you  buy  the  things  we  own,  and 
not  the  things  which  belong  to  the  landlord  ? ” 
replied  again  the  invisible  proprietress. 

“ These  pink  vases,”  said  the  auctioneer, 
pointing  to  the  mantel-piece,  “ are  very  rare,  I 
am  told.  The  pictures  on  them  are  gems  of 
228 


The  Colonel’s  Opera  Cloak 

art,  — shepherd  and  shepherdess,  surrounded  by 
flock,  — landscape  in  the  distance.  I have  never 
seen  a pair  like  them  before.  I should  judge 
they  were  Sevres  or  Dresden  china,  only  that 
the  mark  of  seven  dollars  shows  that  they  must 
be  of  less  value.  But  perhaps  their  value  was  not 
known.  At  any  rate,  they  are  very  beautiful, 
and  evidently  a great  bargain,  such  as  one  meets 
with  only  once  in  a lifetime.” 

“ I did  n’t  know  they  were  so  valuable,”  said 
Mrs.  St.  John,  in  a low  tone,  to  Leslie.  “ I 
bought  them  at  a ninety-nine-cent  store;  but,  if 
they  are  such  a bargain,  I ’ll  just  keep  them 
myself.” 

The  people  were  beginning  to  bid,  when  Mrs. 
St.  John  called  out,  — 

“You  need  not  sell  those  vases.  I think  I ’ll 
keep  them  myself.” 

A laugh  went  around  the  room. 

“ The  slipper-case  and  foot-rest,  — will  you 
keep  those  too,  Madame?”  asked  the  auctioneer, 
turning  toward  the  crack. 

“ You  can  sell  them,  if  you  get  their  value : 
otherwise,  I will  keep  them  myself,”  called  out 
the  voice.  “ I want  ten  dollars  for  the  foot-rest, 
and  seven  for  the  slipper-case.” 

229 


The  Coloners  Opera  Cloak 

Nobody  bid,  and  the  auctioneer  laid  them 
aside. 

Pomp  came  forth  from  the  back  parlor. 

“ Missus  says  she  don’t  know  as  she  keers  for 
de  slipper-case,  after  all,  an’  she  ’ll  let  it  go  for 
free  dollars,  ef  somebody  ’ll  buy  de  foot-rest  for 
four.” 

Several  spoke  at  once.  A laugh  was  raised, 
and  the  articles  were  knocked  down. 

“ Is  this  satin  furniture  for  sale?  ” asked  some 
one  in  the  hall. 

“ No.” 

‘‘  These  draperies  and  mirrors  ? ” 

‘‘  No,  sir.” 

“ Any  thing  in  the  other  parts  of  the  house?  ” 

“ No,  Madame.” 

“ What  is  for  sale  ? ” 

“ Here  is  a trunk,  for  one  thing,  — locked,  — 
key  can’t  be  found,  — sold  on  speculation.” 

“ Two  dollars,”  said  a second-hand-clothes 
man,  who  looked  like  a second-hand  man. 

Two  seventy-five,”  said  his  neighbor. 

“ Massy  gracious ! ” cried  Pomp,  “ don’t  bid 
no  more!  I done  forgot  till  dis  blessed  minute 
dat  dat  ar  trunk  was  Massa  Cavello’s.  I ’spect 
dar  ain’t  much  in  it,  dr  he ’d  ha’  sent  fur  it. 

230 


The  Colonel’s  Opera  Cloak 

Any  how,  dat  ain’t  ourn,  an’  we  ain’t  got  no 
right  to  sell  it.  I ’ll  fin’  out  whar  his  club  is, 
an’  sen’  it  to  him,  though  he  don’t  desarve  to 
git  it.” 

“ This  gilt  shaving-stand,”  resumed  the  auc- 
tioneer, after  Pomp’s  episode,  as  he  moved  aside 
the  trunk,  “ will  go  at  a good  bargain.  In  the 
morning,  when  the  light  is  perhaps  rather  dim, 
or  at  eve,  when  the  bureau-glass  does  not  catch 
a good  light,  this  small  stand  can  be  easily 
moved  about,  and  afford  comfort  to  the  man 
who  would  otherwise  appear  to  his  friends  with 
black  court-plaster  covering  ghastly  wounds, 
made  not  by  ‘ the  envious  Casca,’  but  by  his  own 
hand.” 

A slight  young  man,  who  had  the  air  of  a 
piano-tuner,  and  who  had  bid  off  the  piano, 
attracted  the  eye  of  the  auctioneer.  He  had 
light  hair,  smooth  cheeks,  and  a thin  mustache. 

‘‘  Here,  young  man,  it  would  serve  your  pur- 
pose well ! Shall  I look  to  you  for  a bid  ? ” 

“ You ’d  better  help  him  get  more  hair : he 
can’t  raise  what  he  wants  now,”  cried  Wilfrid, 
from  behind  the  hall-door. 

The  young  man  wanted  to  kill  him. 

At  last,  the  shaving-stand  was  disposed  of. 

231 


The  Coloners  Opera  Cloak 

“ Here  is  a boy's  jacket,  with  a jack-knife  in 
the  pocket,  and  a few  marbles.” 

The  auctioneer  could  not  help  laughing:  it 
seemed  so  absurd  to  sell  one  old  jacket,  in  this 
elegant  house. 

At  the  words  “jack-knife”  and  “marbles,” 
Clarence  rushed  into  the  parlor,  and  when  he 
beheld  the  jacket  he  burst  into  a flood  of  tears. 

“ Give  me  that  jacket,  you  old  fool!  ” said  he. 
“ Those  are  the  things  I gave  Jasper  when  he 
was  sick,  and  he  's  dead  now.  I tell  you,  give  it 
to  me.  It ’s  his  jacket!  ” 

“ Oh,  yes,”  said  Pomp,  the  tears  running  down 
his  cheeks : “ dat  don’t  go.  I dunno  whar  dat 
ar’  jacket  come  from  now.  Dat  war  what  my 
poor  little  gran’son  hed  on  to  him  when  he  died, 
a-lyin’  on  dat  very  red  satin  solYy.  No,  no:  we 
can’t  sell  little  dead  boys’  clo’es!  Miss  Marie 
ain’t  so  pore  as  dat  yit.” 

Two  ladies  got  up  hastily  from  the  sofa:  one 
of  them  had  to  stop  to  pull  away  her  sash-fringes 
which  adhered  to  the  cover. 

The  auctioneer  handed  the  jacket  to  Pomp, 
hardly  knowing  whether  to  swear  or  laugh. 

“ Well,”  said  he,  “ we  will  try  once  more, 
hoping  that  the  party  to  whom  this  belongs  is  in 
232 


The  Colonel’s  Opera  Cloak 

fine  health  and  spirits,  and  willing  to  part  with 
his  clothes.” 

“ Here  is  a fine  cloak,  — a military  cloak,  1 
should  say.  It  is  of  fine  ” — 

“ Oh!  Nobody  must  n’t  make  no  bid  on  dat,” 
called  Pomp,  in  a loud  voice.  “ Dat  can’t  be 
sold,  nohow : dat  b’longs  to  de  Colonel,  an’ 

wa’n’t  never  meant  to  be  sold.  Massy  gracious! 
Why,  don’t  you  know ! Dat ’s  de  Colonel’s  op’ra 
cloak,  — Colonel  St.  John’s.” 

“No,  don’t  sell  that!”  cried  Mrs.  St.  John, 
through  the  crack.  “ Of  course  that  can’t  be 
sold:  anybody  might  have  known  that.  We 
are  not  second-hand-clothes  men.” 

“ What  did  you  put  it  here  for,  if  it  was  n’t 
to  be  sold?”  asked  the  auctioneer,  in  a little 
temper. 

“ I did  n’t  put  it  dar,”  said  Pomp.  “ It  hed  to 
be  somewhar  or  ’noder,  did  n’t  it?  I don’t  ’spect 
yer  to  sell  yer  own  clo’es,  jes’  ’cause  dey  happens 
to  be  in  dis  house.” 

“ I vould  n’t  puy  dat  gloak,  if  dare  vant  notin’ 
more  to  puy  in  de  vorld,”  said  the  little  Jew  to 
his  friend.  “ Dat  gloak  gum  near  to  geddin’  me 
inder  drouble.  I dought  de  devil  vas  in  him  dat 
night.” 


233 


The  Colonel’s  Opera  Cloak 

“ But  he  vas  a goot  gloak,”  said  his  friend, 
regretfully,  looking  after  it.  “ And  de  leedle 
goat,  — das  vas  a goot  leedle  goat.  I likes  to 
puy  gloes  mit  bockets  in  ‘em.  I finds  dings  in 
de  bockets,  somedimes.” 

The  little  Jew  looked  admiringly  at  his  friend : 
he  had  learned  a new  point  in  business. 

“ Well,  is  there  any  thing  else  to  be  sold  ? ” 
asked  the  auctioneer. 

“ No,”  said  Pomp.  “ Yer  hev  sold  all  dere  is 
and  more  ’n  dere  is.” 

“ And  now  I hope  you  are  satisfied,”  said  Mrs. 
St.  John,  in  a low  voice.  “ That  man  is  a mono- 
maniac, Leslie.  He  wants  to  sell  every  thing  he 
can  lay  his  hands  on.” 

The  people  were  soon  gone,  and  Mrs.  St.  John 
proceeded  to  settle  with  the  auctioneer. 

“ How  much  do  you  ask  for  selling  these 
things?  Not  much,  of  course,  for  they  were 
my  own  things.” 

“ Well,  five  dollars  will  satisfy  me,”  said  the 
man. 

“ I should  think  it  might ! You  had  n’t  rent 
to  pay,  or  any  thing  that  other  people  have  to 
spend  money  for.  Yours  must.be  a very  paying 
business,”  she  said. 


234 


The  Colonel’s  Opera  Cloak 

Sinking  into  an  easy-chair,  after  the  auctioneer 
was  gone,  she  cried : “ I declare,  I am  almost 
tired  to  death.  I was  never  so  sick  of  anybody 
in  my  life  as  I was  of  that  auctioneer.  I thought 
he  never  would  get  off  till  he  had  sold  every  one 
of  us ; and  you ’d  think,  to  hear  him  go  on  about 
things,  that  he  owned  them  all.  I pity  his  wife, 
if  his  tongue  runs  that  way  all  the  time.’’ 

“ It  makes  yer  feel  kind  o’  solemn  too,  does  n’t 
it,”  said  Pomp,  “ to  see  tings  go  out  o’  de  house 
yer  ’s  used  to  seein’  in  it,  — kind  o’  like  a fune- 
real. I wanted  to  grab  dem  men  by  de  ha’r, 
when  dey  kerried  off  our  planner.” 

“ It  would  have  been  a pretty  sight,”  said  Mrs. 
St.  John,  to  have  had  the  police  in.  Dear, 
dear,  dear!  How  can  the  Colonel  leave  all  this 
care  on  me  ? ” 

“ Pomp,”  she  added,  “ you  count  out  the  rent, 
and  put  it  into  an  envelope,  and  send  it  to  the 
landlord  the  morning  we  go  away;  for,  if  he 
knows  we  are  going,  he  ’ll  be  looking  about  and 
asking  impertinent  questions.  When  he  does 
get  here,  he  ’ll  find  his  house  all  ready  to  move 
right  into;  and  we  shall  be  out  of  his  way,  and 
give  him  no  trouble  whatever.” 


235 


XI 


The  day  after  their  arrival  in  town,  Leslie 
had  sent  Arthur  to  the  Doctor’s.  She 
longed  to  find  out,  if  possible,  whether  Mr. 
Cavello  had  told  the  truth  about  Tom.  She 
could  not  believe  it,  when  she  remembered  his 
manner  towards  her,  and  the  tones  of  his  voice. 
She  was  so  sincere  herself  that  it  was  hard  for 
her  to  believe  that  others  were  not  so.  Arthur 
had  returned  with  the  melancholy  news  that  the 
family  had  all  gone  to  the  mountains. 

How  crookedly  things  do  go  sometimes!  Oh, 
how  could  she  go  away  without  thanking  Mrs. 
Douglas  for  her  kindness,  and  Bessie,  and  the 
Doctor,  and  Tom ! How  could  she  go,  and 
never  say  “ Good-by  ” to  him ! 

Poor  little  Leslie!  There  had  been  dull  days 
and  tiresome  days,  and  the  tears  had  found  their 
236 


The  Coloners  Opera  Cloak 

way  often  and  easily  to  her  eyes;  but  there  had 
never  been  a cut  like  this!  She  cried  herself  to 
sleep  that  night. 

She  sent  Pomp  to  the  Doctor’s  to  ask  when 
the  family  would  return.  The  Doctor  was  at 
home,  and  said  he  thought  they  would  be  back 
in  a week. 

A week!  A year  would  be  no  worse.  She 
could  not  tell  them  where  she  was  going,  for 
her  uncle  had  only  designated  a railway  junc- 
tion, where  he  was  to  meet  them;  and  she  did 
not  know  how  to  leave  any  address,  nor  did  her 
aunt. 

Mrs.  St.  John  had  lost  her  interest  in  Tom, 
since  he  had  failed  to  do  his  duty  while  at  the 
sea-shore. 

“ I ’m  sure  he  was  near  enough  to  it.  Any- 
body with  half  an  eye  could . see  that ! Why 
didn’t  you  bring  him  to  the  point?”  she  asked. 

“ I could  n’t  do  such  a thing,”  said  Leslie, 
with  the  tears  in  her  eyes.  “ I don’t  know  how.” 
And  she  added,  with  spirit : “ I would  n’t  if  I 
could.  If  he  cared  any  thing  for  me,  he  could 
have  told  me : if  he  did  n’t,  I would  n’t  have  had 
him  say  so,  if  I could  have  made  him ! ” 

All  very  fine,”  said  Mrs.  St.  John,  — very 

237 


The  Coloners  Opera  Cloak 

fine,  indeed ! — especially  in  a poor  girl  fed  and 
clothed  by  her  relations,  who  are  starving  them- 
selves to  do  it,  — taking  the  very  bread  out  of 
their  mouths,  as  it  were. 

“You  never  mean  to  marry,  I suppose.  You 
sent  Mr.  Cavello  away,  you  little  goose ! ” 

“ And  would  you  really  like  me  to  marry  Mr. 
Cavello,”  said  Leslie : “a  man  nobody  knows 

any  thing  about,  and  whom  I hate?  Oh,  why 
did  you  never  have  me  learn  to  do  something, 
so  that  I could  sew,  or  sweep,  or  teach  school, 
to  earn  my  own  living?  I would  a thousand, 
thousand  times  rather  do  any  thing,  than  to 
stay  here,  when  you  don’t  want  me ! ” 

Leslie  did  not  wait  until  night  to  cry,  this 
time. 

Pomp  was  quite  in  despair  at  the  unfortunate 
turn  affairs  were  taking. 

“ Now,  chile,”  said  he,  patting  her  pretty 
head,  which  was  buried  in  her  pillow,  “ don’t 
yer  min’  what  Miss  Marie  says.  She  don’  mean 
nothin’.  She 's  kind  o’  cross  dis  mornin’.  She 
frowed  her  shoe  at  me  dis  vary  day.  She  did  n’t 
hurt  me  none,  but  I hollered,  an’  put  my  harnd 
up  to  my  eye;  an’  den  she  was  skeert,  an’  said 
she  did  n’t  mean  to ; an’  I keeps  it  kind  o’  shet 
238 


The  Colonel’s  Opera  Cloak 


up,  when  I goes  into  her  room,  so  ’s  to  keep  her 
skeert.” 


O Pomp,”  said  Leslie,  with  a smothered 
voice,  “it  isn’t  that.  I don’t 


an’  tell  her  whar  yer  is,  an’  yer  ’ll  hear  putty 
soon.” 


239 


The  ColoneFs  Opera  Cloak 

“ Oh,  I shall  never  see  them  again,”  said 
Leslie,  — “ never  again.  And  I can’t  thank 
them  for  being  so  kind  to  me.  They ’ve  been 
kinder  than  anybody  but  you,  Pomp.  Oh,  dear! 
Oh,  dear!  I shall  never  see  them  again!” 

Pomp  brought  some  cologne,  and  bathed  her 
aching  head,  saying,  — 

“ Dar,  now!  dar,  now!  Don't  yer  cry  no  mo’. 
Yer  jes'  go  to  sleep,  an’  who  kin  tell  what  ’ll 
happen  when  yer  wakes  up?  ” 

Nothing  pleasant  happened,  however.  Thurs- 
day came,  and  the  house  was  closed. 

It  was  several  weeks  before  the  family  were 
settled.  They  boarded  in  one  country  place  and 
in  another ; they  went  away  from  one  city : they 
went  to  another. 

Finally,  Mrs.  St.  John  took  to  her  bed,  — it 
was  her  weapon  of  defence,  — and  announced 
that  she  should  not  move  from  that  town  until 
fall : she  ’d  been  whisked  about  enough. 

That  day,  thinking  that  they  seemed  to  be 
settled  for  a fortnight,  at  least,  poor  Leslie 
wrote  a letter  to  Bessie.  She  looked  out  every 
single  word  in  the  dictionary,  even  the  thes  and 
the  ofs. 


240 


The  Coloners  Opera  Cloak 

We  are  staying  at /’  wrote  Leslie, 

“ and  shall  be  here  for  two  weeks.  After  that, 
uncle  will  take  us  to  the  country.  He  has  some 
business  there  which  is  very  important,  and 
which  he  wants  to  look  after  himself. 

“ I wish  you  would  answer  me  before  we  go 
there.  I want  toihear  from  you.  I was  so  sorry 
not  to  bid  you  good-by  and  thank  you  for  all 
your  kindness.  I shall  never  forget  it.  Give 
my  love  to  your  mother,  and  my  kind  regards 
to  all  the  rest  of  your  family.” 

How  she  wanted  to  ask  where  Tom  was: 
what  he  was  doing,  saying,  thinking ; how  he  was 
looking;  if  he  was  well;  if  he  remembered  her. 

“ Oh ! ” sighed  she,  “ if  the  things  I ’ve  thought 
on  to  this  paper  could  be  read,  what  in  the  world 
would  they  think  of  me?  ” 

Leslie  gave  the  letter  to  her  uncle  to  post. 
And  there  in  his  deep  pocket  it  rested  for  many 
a day,  while  the  girl  watched  and  hoped  and 
longed  for  an  answer.  Every  step  by  the  door, 
every  knock,  made  her  heart  beat. 

The  two  weeks  went  by,  and  no  letter  came. 
She  had  thought  just  for  a second,  time  and  time 
again,  that  Tom  really  liked  her.  But  now  she 
saw  he  had  only  meant  to  be  kind  and  pleasant. 
i6  241 


The  Colonel’s  Opera  Cloak 

Oh,  how  she  wished  he  had  been  cold  and  dis- 
tant and  cross,  and  had  never  made  her  think  — 
although  he  had  never  tried  to  make  her  think 
• — that  he  was  fond  of  her.  That  she  was  sure 
of.  No,  he  never  would  do  so  cruel  a thing  as 
that.  Of  course,  anybody  would  like  Miss  Hen- 
derson best.  Oh,  dear!  Oh,  dear! 

Then  Leslie  made  up  her  mind  that  she  would 
never  think  of  Tom  again,  never  once.  Only, 
when  she  said  her  simple  prayer  at  night,  she 
would  ask  God  to  make  him  happy  always,  even 
if  she  must  be  unhappy. 

The  Doctor,  whose  head  had  little  room  for 
the  St.  Johns  and  their  affairs,  forgot  to  speak 
of  their  departure  until  Tom,  on  his  return,  said 
that  he  had  half  a mind  to  run  down  to  the  sea- 
shore, to  call  on  the  opera  cloak. 

“ Let  me  see,”  said  the  Doctor.  Pomp 
came  here  one  day  to  say  they  were  all  going 
away,  somewhere.  I forget  where,  if  he  told 
me.  I don’t  know  whether  they  all  went  or 
not.” 

Tom  walked  to  Margrave  Street  before  going 
to  his  office.  The  house  was  empty;  the  furni- 
ture was  gone;  paperer  and  painter  were  hard 
242 


The  Colonel’s  Opera  Cloak 

at  work.  Leslie  had  vanished,  as  utterly  as  if 
she  were  dead. 

Tom  wrote  to  the  Elden  House,  to  learn  the 
St.  Johns’  address.  The  landlord  did  not  know 
where  they  had  gone. 

Tom  wondered  why  Leslie  did  not  write. 
She  could  write  to  Bessie,  surely ; and  she 
must  know  that  he  could  not  guess  what  part 
of  the  earth  she  had  flown  to,  unless  she  told 
him. 

He  was  hurt  through  and  through.  Perhaps 
Mrs.  St.  John  had  whisked  the  girl  off,  to  marry 
her  to  some  old  sinner  with  plenty  of  money. 
And  he  had  meant  to  have  a square  talk  with 
her,  the  next  time  he  went  down,  in  spite  of 
everybody  and  every  thing.  He  would  have  done 
so  that  time,  except  for  the  opera  cloak.  He  had 
never  dreamed  that  the  whole  family  could  fly 
off,  like  a flock  of  birds,  without  warning.  He 
had  no  need  to  wait  until  business  came  in  to 
marry,  thank  fortune,  if  Leslie  had  wanted 
him.  And  he  felt  almost  sure  she  did.  He  had 
a snug  little  property  which  his  grandmother 
had  left  him.  Well,  what  good  was  it  now? 
He  did  not  know  where  on  earth  to  look  for 
the  girl. 


243 


The  Colonel’s  Opera  Cloak 


He  went  to  see  the  landlord  of  the  city  house. 
He  did  not  know  where  they  had  gone:  he  only 
wished  he  did.  His  elegant 
furniture  was  all  ruined : 
he  believed  they  kept  a 
riding-school  there.  He 
took  Tom  for  a fellow- 
sufferer. 


So  the  summer  passed 
away,  and  the  pleas- 
ant days  of  Septem- 
ber and  October. 

The  Doctor’s  fam- 
ily had  nearly  lost  their  interest  in  the  St. 
Johns.  Once  in  a while  Pomp  or  his  mis- 
tress was  quoted,  or  the  opera  cloak  was  re 
ferred  to. 

One  evening  Tom  went  to  Mrs.  Ackerman’s, 
and  told  her  about  the  matter. 

“ Don’t  despair,”  said  she,  looking  at  her  hus- 
band, who  was  working  away  at  the  other  end 
of  the  room.  “ Every  thing  will  come  right,  if 
you  care  enough  about  her  to  wait  and  look,  and 
not  fall  in  love  with  some  other  pretty  girl. 
John  and  I had  a long  hard  time,  but  we  feel 
244 


The  Colonel’s  Opera  Cloak 

surer  of  each  other  than  many  who  slip  easily 
into  love  and  marriage.” 

I have  done  all  I can,”  said  Tom,  “ and 
that ’s  very  little.  I think  she  did  n't  care  a 
cent  for  me,  or  she  would  have  written  to  my 
sister.” 

“ Oh,  a thousand  things  may  have  happened. 
A letter  may  have  been  lost,  — just  think  how 
many  are  lost,  to  keep  up  that  great  place  at 
Washington ! — and  she  may  be  waiting  to  hear 
from  you.” 

“ I have  thought,”  said  Tom,  “ that  perhaps 
her  aunt  has  married  her  off,  and  so  hustled  her 
out  of  my  way;  for  I think  she  would  have  come 
to  like  me,  if  she  had  stayed  here,  and  no  other 
fellow  had  been  in  the  way.” 

“Come  to  like  you!”  said  Mrs.  Ackerman, 
laughing.  “ Why,  my  dear  boy,  it  was  as  plain 
as  daylight  that  she  had  no  eyes  but  for  you.  I 
never  saw  a face  speak  more  plainly.  She  was 
a dear  little  girl,  sweet  and  sincere.  And  yet 
she  had  a look  about  her  pretty  mouth  which 
makes  me  think  that  Aunt  St.  John,  could  not 
marry  her  off  against  her  will.” 

“ I ’ll  tell  you  what  I ’ll  do,”  said  Tom.  “ I ’ll 
run  on  to  the  place  where  I last  heard  of  the 

245 


The  Coloners  Opera  Cloak 

Colonel.  Perhaps  I can  track  him  at  one  of 
the  hotels : although  I should  n’t  be  surprised  if 
the  family  were  living  in  Egypt,  or  had  settled 
at  the  South  pole.  They  seem  to  own  the  magic 
carpet,  and  travel  at  will.” 

“ I would  go,”  said  Mrs.  Ackerman ; “ and, 
perhaps  when  you  see  your  little  lady-love, 
you  ’ll  find  that  the  golden  halo  has  disappeared, 
and  you  ’ll  wonder  why  you  ever  took  a fancy 
to  her.  And  you  ’ll  at  least  get  cured,  if  you 
don’t  come  home  engaged.” 

“Get  cured!”  said  Tom.  “Thunder,  I don’t 
want  to  get  cured!  I don’t  believe  you  know 
what  it ’s  like.” 

“Do  I not?’’  said  Mrs.  Ackerman,  smiling, 
and  raising  her  eyebrows.  She  liked  Tom  for 
his  pet.  She  liked  to  see  him  earnest  and 
determined. 

“ She  has  never  lived  among  people,”  said 
Tom,  fearful  lest  the  conversation  should  turn 
from  Leslie : “ she  has  never  lived  among  people 
who  knew  any  thing.  But  I lent  her  some  books, 
and  she  got  hold  of  the  good  points  at  once. 
She  wants  to  learn  every  thing.” 

“ The  child  has  been  neglected,  that  is  very 
evident,”  said  Mrs.  Ackerman ; “ but  your  mother 
246 


The  Colonel’s  Opera  Cloak 

and  Bessie  would  soon  set  her  in  order,  and  I ’ll 
take  her  under  my  wing,  if  she  ’ll  be  taken.  We 
are  going  abroad  next  year.  What  a very  nice 
thing  it  would  be,  if  you  would  join  us!  It 
would  be  the  best  thing  in  the  world  for  your 
little  girl.” 

“ Go  on,”  said  Tom.  “ Say  more,  tell  me  I ’m 
engaged  to  her,  tell  me  I ’m  married  to  her,  tell 
me  I ’m  abroad.  I will  believe  it  all,  — you  have 
such  a way  of  putting  things.  Come,  bring 
Leslie  out,  — I know  she ’s  behind  your  screen^” 
“ I wish  she  were,”  said  Mrs.  Ackerman, 
laughing.  “ Stay  to  tea,  Tom,  and  then  go 
home  early.  Start  on  your  trip  to-morrow,  and 
write  me  when  you  find  your  bonnie  Leslie.” 
Mrs.  Douglas  was  very  suspicious  and  very 
anxious  when  Tom  said  he  was  going  to  take 
a little  trip;  but  she  did  not  say  a word,  for  fear 
of  putting  something  into  his  head  which  might 
not  be  there.  It  was  true,  as  Tom  said:  he 
needed  a change.  He  had  been  very  cross 
lately:  his  mother  said  he  had  been  nervous. 

Tom  felt  as  if  he  had  been  hardly  used.  His 
friends,  when  they  were  in  his  place,  had  smooth 
enough  sailing.  They  knew  the  street  and  num- 
ber where  the  sweetheart  lived;  and  the  very 
247 


The  Colonel’s  Opera  Cloak 

name  was  on  the  door ; and  there  was  a bell  that 
would  ring,  and  a person  to  answer  it ; and 
there  was  a parlor,  and  the  young  lady  was  in  it. 

Alas!  his  little  girl  was  on  Greenland’s  icy 
mountains  or  India's  coral  strand,  for  all  he 
knew.  All  the  bells  in  creation  would  not  bring 
her  in  sight. 

Bessie  packed  Tom’s  clothes,  and  told  him,  if 
he  met  the  opera  cloak,  to  commend  her  to  it. 

In  a search  after  truth,  or  any  thing  else,  it  is 
a comfort  to  have  a definite  point  to  aim  at. 
Tom  had  one. 

He  went  to  all  the  hotels.  The  St.  Johns  had 
been  at  them  all,  at  one  time  or  another.  He 
went  to  the  clubs.  The  Colonel  had  always 
“ just  gone  out.”  It  seemed  as  if  he  was  trying 
to  elude  Tom,  for  he  was  evidently  in  the  city. 

I think  myself  that  the  waiters  and  servants 
were  in  league  with  the  free,  genial,  fee-bestow- 
ing Colonel,  and  thought  to  rescue  him  from 
this  leech-like  creditor;  and  part  of  the  time 
the  Colonel  really  was  out  of  town. 

Tom  had  been  looking  about  for  a week.  One 
day  he  was  straggling  along  the  street,  very 
much  discouraged,  when  he  came  upon  a group 
of  gentlemen.  They  were  listening  to  one  of 
24S 


The  Coloners  Opera  Cloak 


the  number,  — a tall,  stout  man,  with  a slouched 
hat,  — who  was  speaking  very  earnestly  and 
gesticulating  with  fervor. 


Tom’s  eye  was  caught.  What  was  that  he 
saw  before  him!  A blue  cape,  lined  with  red, 
flapping  in  the  breeze.  There  were  gilt  clasps 
at  the  neck.  Tom  was  about  to  embrace  it  and 
water  it  with  his  tears,  when  it  occurred  to  him 
there  might  be  other  blue  cloaks  in  the  world. 
But  he  boldly  approached  the  wearer. 

“Is  this  Colonel  St.  John?” 

The  gentleman  turned  and  eyed  him. 

“I  am  Colonel  St.  John,  sir!” 

“ My  name  is  Douglas,”  said  Tom.  - “ I Ve 
249 


The  Coloners  Opera  Cloak 

been  trying  to  hunt  you  up  for  a week,  to  find 
where  your  family  are  now.  They  lived  near 
us  last  winter,  and  I thought  1 would  call,  if 
they  were  in  town.” 

“Douglas!  Douglas!”  Where  had  the  Colonel 
heard  the  name  ? The  young  man  was  well 
dressed,  and  a gentleman,  — that  .was  evident. 
Perhaps  he  would  buy  lead-stock. 

The  Colonel  shook  hands  with  Tom. 

“ My  family  are  in  town,”  he  said,  “ for  a little 
time.  We  are  for  a few  days  at  the  Lagrange 
House.  They  'll  be  glad  to  see  you.  Dine  with 
us  to-night  at  six.” 

Tom  did  not  ask  after  Leslie.  He  could  not 
trust  his  voice. 

He  bade  the  Colonel  good-by.  He  wanted  to 
give  him  his  purse;  he  wanted  to  kiss  him;  he 
thought  him  a ministering  angel. 

He  hurried  to  the  hotel,  and  met  Leslie  face 
to  face  at  the  parlor  door. 

The  moment  they  met,  Tom  knew  it  was  all 
right;  and  Leslie  knew  it,  too. 

“ I am  staying  in  the  city  for  a few  days,” 
said  Tom;  “and  I came  across  the  Colonel,  and 
found  where  you  were. 

“ Well,”  he  went  on,  looking  at  her  with  his 
250 


The  Colonel’s  Opera  Cloak 

“ smiling  eyes,”  as  Leslie  called  them,  “ I guess 
I won’t  lie ! I came  here  to  hunt  you  up,  and 
now  I ’ve  found  you.  Are  you  a bit  glad  to 
see  me  ? ” 

“ Yes,  if  you  want  me  to 
be,”  said  Leslie,  half-crying, 
half-laughing. 

“ Is  there  no  other  fel- 
low?” asked  Tom. 

“ No,”  said  Leslie,  shak- 
ing her  head  : nobody  but 

Pomp.  Where  is  “Miss  Hen- 
derson ? ” 

“ I don’t  know,  and  I don’t  care,  — do 
you?  ” 

“ No,”  said  Leslie,  “ if  you  don’t.” 

“ Come  back  with  me  and  see  her,”  said  Tom. 
“ Will  you,  Leslie?  ” 

“ I ’ll  tell  Aunt  Marie  you  are  here.”  And 
the  girl  rushed  up  to  her  own  room,  and  threw 
herself  on  her  bed,  and  hid  her  face  in  the 
pillow. 

“ He ’s  come ! he ’s  come ! ” she  whispered. 

She  saw  that  her  eyes  were  shining,  as  she 
smoothed  her  hair,  and  that  her  cheeks  were 
flushed.  She  was  glad  she  was  pretty. 

251 


The  Colonel’s  Opera  Cloak 

She  went  into  her  aunt’s  room. 

“ Aunt  Marie,  Mr.  Douglas  has  come.” 

” The  Doctor?  ” asked  Mrs.  St.  John,  starting 
up,  “or  his  son?” 

“ His  son.” 

“ Have  you  seen  him  ? Has  he  offered  him- 
self to  you  ? ” 

“ Yes,  — I don’t  know,”  said  Leslie. 

“Don’t  know?”  said  Mrs.  St.  John  crossly. 
“ I reckon  you  would  know,  if  he  had ! What 
did  he  say?” 

“ He  said  he  had  come  on  purpose  to  hunt  me 
up;  and  he  asked  me  if  I would  go  back  with 
him  to  see  Miss  Henderson.”  Leslie  was  a little 
confused. 

Mrs.  St.  John  sank  back  upon  the  lounge. 

“Did  you  say  you  would?” 

“ I did  n’t  say  any  thing,”  said  Leslie.  “ I 
ran  away.” 

“ I believe  you  are  a natural  fool,”  said  her 
aunt.  “ Give  me  that  dress  on  the  chair.  I ’ll 
be  down  in  a minute.” 

Mrs.  St.  John  was  going  to  have  no  nonsense 
this  time.  But  there  was  no  need  of  her  assist- 
ance. Tom  came  to  meet  her  and  took  both 
her  hands  in  his. 


252 


The  Colonel’s  Opera  Cloak 

“ I am  so  glad  to  see  you,"  he  said.  Has 
Leslie  told  you  I came  to  take  her  back  with 
me,  if  she ’d  go?  Do  you  think  she  will?  ” 

The  idea  of  taking  her  back  had  never  entered 
his  head,  before  the  words  said  themselves. 

Mrs.  St.  John’s  heart  lightened.  This  was 
plain  talking:  there  was  no  need  of  beating  the 
bush. 

“ I don’t  know,”  she  said,  as  if  she  had  many 
minds  on  the  subject.  “ A great  many  men 
have  wanted  Leslie.  There  was  one  rich  Cuban, 
— oh,  you  know  Mr.  Cavello,  — and  there  are 
a great  many  others.  I ’ve  thought  Leslie  would 
make  a great  match.” 

“ I have  enough  money,”  said  Tom,  “ for  two 
of  us.  Did  you  know  I had  a little  fortune  of 
my  own?  I wish  it  was  a thousand  times  more, 
for  Leslie’s  sake.” 

This  was  pleasant.  Mrs.  St.  John  thawed. 

“ Leslie  likes  you  better  than  any  of  the  others. 
She  confessed  it  before  we  left  that  cold  place 
where  you  live.  So,  money  or  no  money,  I must 
let  her  go,  I suppose.” 

Tom  wrote  home  that  night  that  he  had  found 
the  St.  Johns,  and  was  engaged  to  Leslie,  and 
253 


The  Coloners  Opera  Cloak 

that  he  would  be  married  in  a week,  and  bring 
her  back.  He  was  not  going  to  let  her  slip  away 
again.  She  was  so  good  that  he  knew  they 
would  be  delighted  with  her;  and  she  could 
hardly  wait  to  see  his  mother. 

He  wrote  to  Mrs.  Ackerman ; — 

“ ‘ I ’ve  chased  the  antelope  over  the  plain,’  — 

that ’s  Leslie ; 

‘ The  tiger’s  cub  I ’ve  bound  with  a chain,’  — 
that 's  her  aunt ; 

‘ And  the  young  gazelle  with  his  silvery  feet 
I ’ll  bind  for  thee  for  a playmate  sweet,’  — 

that ’s  myself. 

“ I ’m  going  to  bring  Leslie  home  with  me, 
and  make  sure  of  her.  I expect  I shall  have  a 
strong-minded  woman  on  my  hands  yet.  She 
says  she ’s  going  to  learn  every  thing. 

“ Thank  you  a thousand  times  for  your  kind- 
ness. Leslie  sends  her  love.’' 

Pomp  and  the  boys  were  delighted  to  see  Tom. 
The  boys  borrowed  his  neckties  and  his  hand- 
kerchiefs from  his  room,  and  wore  them  about 
with  charming  abandon. 

254 


The  Colonel’s  Opera  Cloak 

“ We ’ve  all  got  one  on/’  said  Clarence,  touch- 
ing his  necktie,  at  dinner,  and  pointing  to  the 
other  boys,  as  he  nodded  to  Tom.  Tom  smiled 
back.  Dear  boys!  How  he  loved  them. 

Mrs.  St.  John  gave  Leslie  a hundred  dollars, 
with  which  the  Colonel  had  told  her  to  “ buy 
things.’’  Very  little  could  be  done  in  a week 
toward  a wedding  trousseau;  and  Mrs.  St.  John 
was  tired,  and  told  Leslie  she  had  better  wait, 
and  buy  things  when  she  got  settled. 

The  Colonel  gave  her  on  the  sly  two  hundred 
dollars  more.  It  was  very  generous  in  him,  for 
he  had  hard  work  to  get  along,  just  then.  Tom 
told  Leslie  that  she  had  better  keep  it,  and 
send  it  back  when  she  wrote  to  them : he  had 
enough  for  all  her  “ gewgaws.” 

The  Colonel  blessed  Tom,  when  that  letter  ar- 
rived. He  had  not  known,  on  a second  thought, 
how  to  get  along  without  the  money. 

“ I found  a song  about  you,”  said  Leslie  to 
Tom.  “ I bought  it  at  a music-store.  I will 
sing  it  for  you  some  time.  It  is : — 

“ ‘ Douglas,  Douglas,  tender  and  true  ; ^ 
but  it  made  me  cry,  it  was  so  sad.” 

255 


The  Coloners  Opera  Cloak 

“ I don't  think  it  is  very  sad  to  be  ‘ tender  and 
true/  ” said  Tom.  “ I fancy  you  *d  cry  by  and 
by,  if  I was  n’t.” 

“ I sha'n't  be  sad  any  more,”  said  Leslie : 
“I  'm  perfectly  happy ; and  you  know  I said  that 
would  pay  me  for  all  the  unhappy  days,  — and  it 
does.” 

“ Do  you  remember  that  tea  of  ours,  and  how 
you  warmed  my  toast,  and  how  cozy  it  was 
there?”  said  Tom.  “I  wanted  to  kiss  you, — 
but  I knew  you  would  be  angry.” 

“ I should  have  been  angry,”  said  Leslie,  “ but 
I should  have  liked  it,  — I mean  if  I ’d  thought, 
— no,  I mean  ” — 

“ Oh,  you  need  n’t  explain,”  said  Tom.  “ It ’s 
all  right  now.” 

So  they  were  married,  — Leslie  wearing  the 
white  dress  which  she  had  worn  at  the  hop. 
Pomp  had  helped  her  sew,  — for  he  was 
“ quite  a seamster.”  Mrs.  St.  John  put  on  the 
flowers. 

The  boys  all  cried : they  loved  Leslie  dearly. 
Mrs.  St.  John  pressed  to  her  dry  eyes  a fine 
handkerchief.  Her  mission  was  accomplished; 
peace  reigned  in  her  soul. 

256 


The  Coloners  Opera  Cloak 

The  Colonel  beamed  with  content:  he  was 
glad  to  have  Leslie  happy. 

Pomp  was  heart-broken  for  himself,  but  joyful 
for  his  darling. 

When  Leslie  bade  them  good-by,  she  kissed 
Pomp,  and  hugged  him,  and  cried  with  all  her 
heart. 

Don’t  yer  cry,”  said  Pomp,  smiling  a dis- 
torted smile  through  his  tears.  “ Don’t  cry.” 
Then  he  laid  his  hand  on  her  head,  and  gave 
her  his  benediction  : — 

“ May  de  Lord  gib  yer  His  massy-guard,  an’ 
make  yer  de  light  ob  His  eyes  an’  de  joy  ob  His 
heart,  an’  bress  yer  fur  ever  an’  ever.  An’  now 
go  forth,  an’  take  yer  place  ’mong  de  nations  ob 
de  ’arth,  an’  flourish  like  a green-baize  tree. 
Amen.” 

You  used  to  give  me  awful  cuts,  Leslie,” 
said  Tom,  when  they  were  whirling  away  in  the 
cars,  “ saying,  ‘ just  for  once,’  or  ‘ just  for  twice.’ 
Now,  my  young  lady,  I have  you  ‘ just  for 
always.’  ” 

‘‘  It  is  very  strange  that  no  letter  comes  from 
Tom,”  said  Mrs.  Douglas.  “ We  have  n’t  heard 
for  a week.” 


17 


257 


The  Colonels  Opera  Cloak 

One  afternoon  an  expressman  drove  up  to  the 
Doctor’s  house.  He  brought  in  an  unknown 
trunk  and  a big  package,  marked  with  their 
number. 

“ Tom  will  be  here  to  tea,”  said  Mrs.  Douglas, 
cheerfully.  “ I was  really  getting  worried,  al- 
though I might  have  remembered  how  he  hates 
writing  letters.” 

“ Where  did  he  get  that  strange  trunk,  and 
what’s  in  this  package?”  said  little  Ned,  cutting 
the  string. 

There  was  a shout  from  all  the  family. 

“ What  have  we  done?  ” cried  Bessie,  retreat- 
ing, with  an  air  of  horror. 

“ What  is  it  ? ” said  the  Doctor,  raising  hi§ 
eyes. 

It  was  the  Colonel's  Opera  Cloak! 

“ The  Opera  Cloak ! ‘Not  Lancelot,  nor  an- 
other,’ ” said  Bessie,  “ but  just  him,  himself.  I 
suppose  this  trunk  is  his.  Perhaps  Tom  is  inside.” 

A telegram  came  a little  later : “ Home  at 
seven.” 

The  tea-table  was  set  in  the  back  parlor. 
The  fire-light  danced  on  the  walls,  and  lighted 
up  the  silver  and  the  pretty  china.  A dainty 
tea  was  made  ready  for  Tom.  : 

258 


The  Coloners  Opera  Cloak 

A ring  at  the  door.  It  was  his  voice,  dear 
fellow!  How  merry  and  happy  he  was! 

But  who  was  with  him? 

Leslie  St.  John! 

“How  lovely!”  said  Bessie,  rushing  to  meet 
her.  “ What  a surprise ! Did  your  aunt  come 
too,  and  all  the  boys?” 

Leslie  looked  at  Tom  in  dismay. 

“ Good  gracious,  mother!  ” cried  Tom.  “ Bes- 
sie ! Everybody ! Did  n’t  you  get  my  letter  ? 
Did  n’t  you  know  I was  married  ? ” 

“ Married!  Who  are  you  married  to?  ” cried 
little  Ned,  quite  elated.  “Gertrude  Henderson?” 

“ To  Leslie,  of  course,”  said  Tom.  “ Who 
else  could  it  be?  ” 

Mrs.  Douglas  sat  down  and  cried.  The  Doc- 
tor looked  over  his  glasses.  A dead  silence  fell 
upon  them.  Leslie  was  still  standing.  Tom 
was  getting  angry.  Bessie  laughed,  — Tom 
blessed  her  for  that,  — and  ran  to  Leslie  again, 
and  kissed  her. 

“ Come,  Tom,  you  stupid,”  said  she,  “ take  of¥ 
her  things.  She’s  cold.” 

“ My  dear  boy,”  said  Mrs.  Douglas,  “ we  never 
got  your  letter.”  And  she  went  to  him,  and  put 
her  arms  around  his  neck. 


The  Colonel’s  Opera  Cloak 

“ You  know  it  now,  mother,”  said  he.  “ Don’t 
you  see  Leslie?” 

Poor  Mrs.  Douglas  turned : Leslie’s  sweet 

face  was  wet  with  tears. 

“ Oh,  dear  Mrs.  Douglas,  do  love  me,”  she 
cried:  “I'll  do  just  what  you  tell  me.” 

Then  Tom’s  mother  took  the  girl  in  her  arms, 
— she  had  always  had  a tender  place,  down 
in  her  heart,  somewhere,  for  Leslie,  — and  they 
kissed,  and  made  friends. 

The  Doctor  was  pleased : he  had  always  liked 
her. 

“ Come  and  sit  in  my  chair,  my  dear,”  said 
he,  trying  to  take  off  her  bonnet,  in  his  clumsy 
man's  way;  “you  must  not  wonder,  if  we  seem 
to  be  a little  surprised.” 

Leslie  threw  her  arms  around  him,  and  cried 
again. 

So  they  all  comforted  her,  and  little  Ned  cried 
because  the  others  did. 

“ You  have  an  old  friend  here,”  said  Bessie, 
shaking  out  the  opera  cloak  as  Leslie  was  lying 
on  the  sofa  after  tea,  her  hand  in  Mrs.  Douglas’s. 
“ It  came  with  the  trunk.” 

“ Why,”  cried  Leslie,  starting  up,  “ where  did 
that  come  from,  Tom?” 

260 


' The  Colonel’s  Opera  Cloak 

“ I don’t  know.  Perhaps  Pomp  packed  it  up, 
thinking  you ’d  be  cold.  I sent  a package  of 
yours  and  your  trunk  here  to-day  by  express.” 

Then  they  had  a great  laugh;  and  Leslie  was 
taken  into  the  family  joke  of  the  opera  cloak, 
and  laughed  with  the  rest. 

“ O.  C.  St.  John,  Esq.,  is  quite  a match- 
maker,” said  Bessie : “ I wonder  if  he  ’ll  help 

me  out.” 

The  next  morning  a notice  from  the  dead- 
letter  office  announced  that  a letter  for  Mrs. 
Douglas  was  held  for  postage.  She  sent  for  it, 
and  so,  rather  late  in  the  day,  read  the  important 
announcement  of  Tom’s  marriage. 

Leslie  asked  to  have  the  letter,  to  keep. 

The  opera  cloak  was  hung  up  in  the  lower 
hall.  They  were  going  to  send  it  back  to  the 
Colonel. 

One  day  it  disappeared.  It  was  never  seen 
again. 

Whether  it  was  stolen,  or  whether  it  saw  that 
its  mission  to  the  St.  John  family  was  accom- 
plished, and  went  off  on  an  errand  of  mercy  in 
some  other  field  of  labor,  never  was  known.  But 
this  we  do  know:  somewhere,  somehow,  it  yet 
261 


The  Colonel’s  Opera  Cloak 

exists.  And  if  you  ever  happen  to  meet  a blue 
cloak,  lined  with  red,  with  “ brass  knobs  ” at  the 
neck,  — no  matter  where  it  is  or  on  whom  it  is, 
look  on  it  with  respect.  You  know  its  story. 
It  is 

The  Colonel’s  Opera  Cloak. 


262 


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